


Whither Must I Wander

by hesterbyrde



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood Play, Blow Jobs, Cannibalism, F/F, Fingering, First Time, Graphic Description, Hand Jobs, Knife Play, M/M, Murder, Nightmares, Porn, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Scars, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Sex, Spoilers, Violence, face fucking, surgery kink, surgery play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 66,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will vaguely remembered falling. Or maybe it just felt that way. For a span all he could recall was plummeting into the darkness and cold. So maybe he had just imagined it. He’d slipped into unconsciousness so many times over the years, and each instance had been possessed of its own sensation. Freezing. Sinking. Being swallowed. Burning alive. But this had definitely felt like falling, with the unmistakable bone-rending crush of icy cold water at the bottom. </p><p>So maybe they had fallen together over that eroding cliff into the arms of the Atlantic.</p><p>The cliff.</p><p>They… he and Hannibal...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Built a Palace in the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings all, and welcome to my first Hannibal fic! I'm picking up directly after the end of Season 3 so be warned that there are spoilers for the whole series in this fic. The rough draft of this is finished, and editing is well underway, so it will be posted in its entirety. 
> 
> First of all, the fic title and chapter titles are all taken from the poem "Whither Must I Wander" by Robert Louis Stephenson.
> 
> Please note that this fic comes with several warnings... major character deaths, very graphic and bloody sexual play, ect. I've done my best to tag as appropriate, but I'll be adding to the list as I catch things that I missed. If I've failed to tag something properly, please let me know. I will also do my best to list warnings about sensitive and NSFW content in the note at the top of each chapter so you will have a better idea about what content is coming up.
> 
> This first chapter has some discussions of injuries and patching up, but nothing too graphic.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcome.

Will vaguely remembered falling. Or maybe it just felt that way, because he couldn’t remember why he fell or where he’d been. At least not at first. For a span all he could recall was plummeting into the darkness and cold. So maybe he had just imagined it. He’d slipped into unconsciousness so many times over the years, and each instance had been possessed of its own sensation. Freezing. Sinking. Being swallowed. Burning alive. But this had definitely felt like falling, with the unmistakable bone-rending crush of icy cold water at the bottom. 

So maybe they had fallen together over that eroding cliff into the arms of the Atlantic.

The cliff.

They… he and Hannibal...

His mind felt dull and sluggish, and coaxing it to move was a challenge. Like wiggling the fingers of a hand that had gone to sleep. He tried to focus and remember, but for what seemed like a small eternity all he could recall was falling. And then pieces started to come back. Small fragments that refused to join at first. 

The squish of blood in his fingers as it leaked through the hole in Hannibal’s sweater. 

Hot breath ghosting over the stab wound that gaped like a second mouth on Will’s jaw. 

And the smell of his blood and of Hannibal’s skin... it seemed for a while that those things had never been separate. 

These fleeting glimpses would twist in the cavity of his mind, dancing like foxfire in the darkness just out of his reach. And when something almost reached cohesion, it would all be inevitably consumed by the pounding of the frigid Atlantic, and the jawless maw of the void would suck him under. And then it would all begin again...

When he came to in earnest, he found a window in his view. Beyond the glass, the moon hung low in the sky; dull and bone white with the bottom edge fading into the black. The full moon had passed, but not that long ago Will noted numbly. Memories came in reluctant but more orderly patches. He remembered the color of blood by moonlight… staining his hands… his clothes… like ink in a Rorschach. He remembered a knife in his hand, handle slipping between fingers slicked with blood, but his grip was fast and his aim unerring. He lifted his hand to find it clean save for a black line of stitches marching down his knuckle.

When he saw the stitches, the revelation of his injuries was quick to follow. Pain soaked into his bones like scalding water. For a moment he thought he hurt all over, before the agony settled in his jaw, his chest and his left shoulder. But once the initial shock was past, Will was grateful for the pain. It helped focus his mind. Helped him remember and take in his surroundings.

He was in a small room low ceiling, demurely lit by a heavily shaded bedside lamp. While there was little art or furniture to speak of, all the dark wood and rich color spoke of careful taste. Will spread out his hands on the heavy down coverlet and took stock of his situation. He found he was dressed in soft flannel sleep pants, and tucked into sheets that probably had a higher thread count than his salary at the university. An IV ran into his right arm, but he couldn’t look around much more without making the wound on his jaw flare with pain.

Memories came together at last, clicking in place like tumblers in a lock. The Great Red Dragon had been slain at the last full moon, which couldn’t be long ago, judging from the view out the window. And he’d died at the hands of himself and Hannibal. The memory of the kill flowed through Will’s limbs, making him flush and wince as he involuntarily tried to move. He found his left arm bound to his side over an even thicker layer of bandages, and it seemed his whole ribcage was plagued with a constant, gnawing ache.

He must have made a sound as he sat up, because Hannibal appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. His hands were holding bloody gauze and paused in their labor over the ragged gunshot wound at his side. The world seemed to freeze and draw a breath as the men took each other in.

“Hello, Will.” Hannibal said softly, after an uncomfortable silence. His face was still and unreadable. A perfect mask, as if they were suddenly in a therapy session. “I am glad to see you awake.”

Will swallowed twice, trying to summon up enough spit to talk. His mouth tasted disgusting and the stitches inside his cheek scraped across his gums, but there was something about the way Hannibal’s lips moved around his name that made him not notice, and arrested all attempts at speech. He tried to take a deep breath but only succeeded in earning a sharp pain for the trouble.

“Broken rib.” Hannibal said gently, still regarding him as he dabbed the gauze at his own injury. “The knife cracked it on the way by, and you dislocated your shoulder at some point. Probably when we hit the water.”

“He shot you.” Will’s voice was barely more than a ragged whisper.

“He did, but it appears to be a clean through-and-through. On the whole, we were both very lucky.” Hannibal replied carefully.

“He is dead? The Dragon?” Will croaked.

“Quite dead.” Hannibal confirmed, still unmoved from the bathroom doorway. He was being careful, Will knew. But he didn’t want to think about why just yet.

Will looked down at himself, really seeing for the first time the bandages and the sling and the jagged row of black stitches just under his collar bone. “How did… where are we?” Will asked, his voice raspier than usual with disuse.

“In a small cabin I own, a few hundred miles inland. You were unconscious the minute we fell into the sea and I thought it prudent to keep you that way while I stitched up your wounds. It would have been very painful otherwise.”

Will smirked coldly at that, feeling the stitches on his jaw pull sharply. Painful as compared to what else Hannibal had done to him? He felt the thought crawl across his mind like a poisonous snake. And yet, he could not make that Hannibal… the one who had butchered Abigail, and allowed him to suffer dangerously with the hallucinations of encephalitis. The one who had sent the Dragon after Molly… He couldn’t make that gel with the Hannibal that stood before him now. Infinitely more gentle, and more sincere than he had ever seen him. 

He shook his head in an attempt to gain some clarity. “They’ll find us.” He told him instead. Speaking more than a few words at a time was making his jaw ache.

“Don’t worry. This place is not in my name and the car we used to get here has been disposed of. I doubt they are looking too hard for either of us anyway. They haven’t even found the Dragon’s body yet, which means they are likely still searching around the site of our escape.”

“You mean you didn’t bring it with you?” Will asked darkly. Even to his own ears he was starting to sound like a petulant child. Classic snide defensiveness in a situation where he felt ill-at-ease. He knew Hannibal would recognize it but he was too groggy and exhausted to care.

Hannibal didn’t appear fazed by the accusation, and instead he turned back to the bathroom mirror and began to thread a needle. Will could see the bandage low on his back over the bullet’s entry point, just under Mason Verger’s brand. “I had considered it.” he remarked coolly. 

“Of course you had.” Will interjected before he could stop himself.

“But it seemed unwise. Even if I was in good physical condition which obviously I wasn’t, I was unprepared to move a whole body, and had no way of preserving any part of him that you and I could dine on. And giving the FBI some closure will help keep them off our scent.”

Will snorted softly. “I’m surprised you could stop yourself. That must have been a first.”

“It was certainly a rarity. But I had more important matters to deal with.” Hannibal regarded him carefully in the mirror before averting his eyes.

Will’s head swam at that, though he was unsettlingly certain about why. The vision came unasked of Hannibal setting him down to a meal by candle light. He could practically smell the steam rising from… whatever it was. He didn’t let his imagination get that far.

“I’m not sure I could keep anything down anyway.” he settled for saying, though he wasn’t sure that it was totally a lie.

“I had also considered that.” Hannibal replied lightly, as he began stone-facedly stitching his gunshot wound closed. 

“So what… is this cabin one of your many fallback plans?”

“Of a fashion. No one knows about this place, but as you said, we can't stay here forever.”

“What… what will you do?” Will asked, the question half out before he could stop himself. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. Hopeful…

Hannibal did not miss it. “I will likely return to Europe. To Bulgaria or some part of Scandinavia, perhaps.” Hannibal paused and slowly licked his lips, obviously weighing his next statement with great care. “I wanted you to run away with me once before. I’ll understand if you say no again.”

Will let the statement hang in the air as he weighed how to answer. “You'll just let me go this time? I doubt it.” he said, almost too weary to summon the snideness the comment required.

“You have my word.” Hannibal vowed, pausing to look at him before resuming his sewing. “You may go back to your world and your family if you wish. And I will not trouble you.”

“But...” Will stopped and considered for a moment. Considered how long it had taken to piece his life back together enough to even be presentable for Molly to consider “adopting” him. That always felt like what she’d done. That she had somehow taken him in rather than marrying him. And he considered the look on her face… on Walter’s face at the hospital after the Dragon had chased them from their home. And he considered life without Hannibal… but only for the briefest of moments.

Hannibal regarded him with his usual piercing, black-eyed stare. “You find the prospect of returning to them worrisome?” 

“I can't go back to Molly and Walter.” Will looked out the window at the moon. It had jaundiced with its proximity to the jagged horizon. “ I… I can’t go back to her. Not after you sent Dolarhyde to kill them. And not… not after what we did.”

“I think “can't” is the incorrect word.” Hannibal replied shrewdly.

“Don't want to, then.” he said, bitterly. “I... I don't want to take this back to her after everything I’ve heaped on her doorstep. She promised to be waiting for me at the end of the Tooth Fairy case, unchanged. But I changed her. And I will change her again, and I don’t want that for her. She thinks there are things in this world that… goodness can withstand. I don’t want to prove her wrong.” 

“You care about her.” Hannibal said softly.

“I love her.” 

“Love is also the incorrect word.” 

Will gave him a hard look. “The word has many meanings. It means something different to you.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Because you're looking at me when you say it.” 

Hannibal turned from his reflection with a look of mild surprise. “Do you think I am in love with you? A bit narcissistic, Will. Especially for you.” He had the needle still in hand, pulling the skin of his stomach taut. The corner of his mouth mirrored the movement, more sneer than smile, but Will caught that he’d put on the expression just a beat too late. Insincere at best. But more likely it was consciously chosen as appropriate.

“No. That's not what I said.” He answered calmly.

“Quite correct. Forgive me. You think I love you, then. Do you think I'm capable of love?” 

“You must be.” Will answered, being careful to shrug with his uninjured shoulder.

“Why? Because I am human?” The derision dripped from his words like honey.

“Because I'm still alive. After lying to you. Manipulating you. Using you as bait. The height of rudeness, as you would say… and I’m not dead yet.” 

Hannibal’s arrogant sneer faded for a moment. And then he smiled, sharp enough to cut glass but warm. Proud, perhaps. “I should stop trying to tell you what you mean.”

“No. Sometimes you're right. Just not when I'm speaking a truth you're hiding from yourself.”

Hannibal swallowed visibly before bending down to cut the thread with his teeth. Will shivered as the memory of him sinking those teeth into the Dragon’s throat came to him unbidden. He had been beautiful in that moment. Will had not lied or exaggerated. He was all hunger, and power, and untamed grace. It truly had been beautiful.

And he was beautiful now. In his poise. In his control. In the rawness of his expression as he gazed at Will. It made Will’s chest ache in a way that eclipsed the broken rib by far.

“May I check your injuries?” Hannibal asked mildly, the mundane question pulling Will from his reverie. The gulf between them seemed to widen and harden as Hannibal just stood there motionless in the doorway.

“You feel the need to ask to approach me now? After everything…?” Will asked, incredulously.

Hannibal looked at him with an unreadable expression that hung somewhere between heartache and… something Will couldn’t name at first. He didn’t recognize it bent upon the frame Hannibal’s features. 

Fear, he realized.

Hannibal dropped his eyes to the carpet. “I simply worry that-” 

“You’re not willing to lose another teacup.” Will cut him off, struggling to sit up.

Hannibal closed his mouth and nodded, not lifting his gaze. “I will let you go, Will. Now that I have shown you what I wanted. I want more for you. For both of us really, but I will understand if you decline and return to Molly. Or to your house at Wolf Trap if you find that family life no longer suits you. You have my word that I will trouble you no further, though…” he paused, swallowing around the difficult confession. “You will certainly trouble my every waking hour.”

Will was speechless at first, a frown tugging at his brow. He tried several times to speak before arriving at any words at all. “How did you know I kept the house at Wolf Trap?” He asked lamely. The question sounded stupid after such an ardent and eloquent declaration.

Hannibal smiled again, and laughed a little as he pulled on his shirt. “You knew something like this would happen one day, whether I engineered it or not.” Hannibal answered, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug, still not looking up at him. “I didn’t know, but I am not surprised it is the truth.”

Will looked down at where his hands rested on the satin coverlet. Hannibal still hadn’t moved from the doorway of the bathroom. He stood, leaning on the frame with eyes averted. And all at once, Will couldn’t stand it.

“It hurts.” He said roughly. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about his wounds or the sharp edges of the distance and silence pushing them apart. “Will you… come see? Please?”

“Of course.” Hannibal replied, quickly washing his hands before crossing to Will. He sat down carefully on the bed so as not to jostle him, and began checking him over. He asked the usual questions first, about things like pain, shortness of breath, and numbness in the arm with the dislocated shoulder. His voice was low, and even, and earnest, and Will knew that he was witnessing something rare.

Even with him sitting at arm’s length, Will still felt like he was drowning in the space between them. So much so that the first touch of Hannibal’s hands on the bare skin of his shoulder was electric. It made Will’s heart jump in a way he was powerless to hide. And even though he was clinical and brief, the ghost of Hannibal’s touch lingered on Will’s skin.

And when he reached up to cup Will’s face and examine the sutured stab wound on his jaw, Will lost all semblance of self control. He shamelessly pressed his cheek into the warmth of Hannibal’s palm, baring his injured throat and unexpectedly finding himself waiting to be chastised for the weakness. But it never came. 

Instead Hannibal froze, just for a moment before he swept his thumb over the arch of Will’s cheek and gently turned his face upwards. A tiny and inhuman sound escaped Will’s throat as he met Hannibal’s eyes.

“What do you want, Will.” It was not a question. More a diagnosis. And there it was again. The way his lips moved when he said his name. Like he was whispering the true name of God.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I can ask for.” He whispered, trying in vain to hide his burning face against Hannibal’s hand. “And I don’t know what you want.”

“You.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Not the answer you’d like. You want specifics. Instructions. A path to follow, and I have none to give you. Anything I could say at this moment would… diminish my meaning.”

“I’m afraid.” Will whispered, still pressing his face into Hannibal’s sheltering hand.

Hannibal looked at him in earnest. An open, and honest face. It was a strange look on him, much like his earlier fear. On anyone else it would look vulnerable and needy but on Hannibal, honesty looked like power. “You may ask me for anything.” he said still caressing his face. He let the weight of that statement suffused into the air around them. “Tell me what you fear.”

“So many things. You’re… you’re dangerous for so many logical reasons.”

“But it is the illogical ones that frighten you.”

“I am afraid of myself. Of what you will make of me.”

Hannibal lifted his other hand, placing it gently against the curve where Will’s neck met his shoulder. His long, graceful finger traced down his cheek towards the hollow of Will’s throat, just skirting the edge of the sutured stab wound. “I never wanted to make you into anything. I only wanted to let you see. See yourself as I see you. You are glorious as you are, and that is what drew me to you from the very moment I saw you in Jack Crawford’s office.”

“Some wouldn’t call what draws you “glorious.””

“You called it beautiful.” 

The air left Will’s tired lungs in a single huff as he let himself collapse into Hannibal’s grip.

Hannibal let his head fall towards his shoulder, and he caressed Will’s neck as he spoke. “I will fully admit to using less than forthright means to reveal your nature to you, and for that-”

“That is the understatement of the century.” Will cut him off with a laugh and a tight smile. “ But I already forgave you.”

“That does not make me any less penitent.”

Will kept trying to catch his breath to steady himself, but each admission from Hannibal chased the air from his body and made it harder to do anything but get closer to him. “Please… Hannibal…” The words shook from him.

Hannibal’s eyes kindled with a primal fire at the sound of his name on Will’s lips, and he spoke with frightening certainty. “I only ever wanted you to know yourself.” he said, tipping Will’s head back with infinite care, as if he were made of spun glass. “Because I only ever wanted your companionship.”

“Then take me with you.” Will whispered, his lips mere inches from Hannibal’s. “To Europe. Or wherever. I don’t care. Just don’t… don’t leave me here alone.”

Hannibal licked his lips, a slow, careful swipe of a predator’s tongue before he nodded and covered Will’s mouth with his own.

Will had often feverishly imagined kissing Hannibal. Conjured for himself frenzied images and sensations of bared teeth and bloody lips, but he had never ventured to guess what he would actually taste like. He remembered again all at once, the sight of Hannibal ripping Dolarhyde’s throat out. He could feel those teeth, thinly veiled behind his soft lips and he surged forward. But Hannibal stopped him, one hand pressing against his uninjured shoulder, and the other softly grasping his hair. He could feel Hannibal’s strength, though he was using very little to keep him in place.

“You’re injured Will.” he told him, his lips never quite parting from Will’s.

“Please.” he ground out, still not even a hundred percent sure what he was asking for.

Hannibal smoothed Will’s hair out of his face and kissed him again with infinite gentleness and reverence. “Relax, Will. I’m not leaving your side.” he whispered as he laid him back in the bed. “We will have time. I promise. All the time in the world.”


	2. Hunger, My Driver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Just a few notes before we get to the new chapter.
> 
> I forgot to give credit to my wonderful beta reader, HexMeridian. He is made of magic and skeletons and I couldn't do this without him yelling encouragement from his trash can.
> 
> This chapter gets a warning for murder, blood, cannibalism... nothing you haven't seen if you watched the show, but I just don't want anyone to dive in unprepared.
> 
> There are a few notes about continuity things at the end of the chapter, but without further ado...
> 
> ***

After Will regained consciousness, he and Hannibal passed four days in the seclusion of the cabin. But it was only twelve hours before Will was going stir crazy and wanting to be outside under the open sky. Or what passed for open sky. The late winter had brought with it low, filmy gray clouds which clung to the mountains like a funeral shroud. Hannibal humored him in his restlessness, wrapping him quite snugly into a fleece robe before letting him pad around out on the porch. Any misgivings he might have had about Will’s healing evaporated when he couldn’t help but note how the first breath of cool, fresh air seemed to do more for Will’s well-being than all the medical attention in the world. 

As he paced the porch and as the more powerful painkillers had cleared his system, Will recalled the previous evening with more clarity. His own sincerity in the moment shocked him, but not as much as Hannibal’s. And if Hannibal’s behavior was any indication, he clearly was not alone in his surprise. Hannibal was infinitely careful with Will in the days that passed, not just physically but also emotionally. Each word and touch was measured and cloistered in a way Will had never seen before. Not even in therapy. Like Hannibal always wanted more than he sought, and without being insistent, he was letting Will know that. It was all at once careful and completely unguarded, and part of Will reveled in it, though he didn’t know how to do more than simply observe.

Will found he didn’t talk much as the days wore on, both because of the pain in his jaw and because he just didn’t have the words to express his reeling thoughts. He didn’t know where they were, or how they’d gotten there, or how they’d found their way out of the ocean. He could guess by the shape of the mountains and the climate they were in northern Appalachia, but he knew nothing beyond that. It was all beginning to feel like a dream… particularly the fact that Will seemed to feel neither worried, nor scared, nor even the least bit curious about what was to come.

Hannibal did most of the talking, all of it light and unimportant, but incredibly interesting. What Will had always imagined his conversation being like at one of his fancy parties. Snippets about bird watching, or a story about scandal in a Parisian salon. And Will found himself strung between being strangely content and incredibly desirous… but of what he still couldn’t be sure. His hands itched to touch, and he found himself chewing on his lips, recalling the taste of Hannibal’s mouth with dizzying detail. But when he thought he might act, he always found himself hesitating, his brain constantly reminding him that people with what he had to assume was Hannibal’s pathology were not interested in such base forms of interaction. But he still wanted, and he often caught Hannibal looking at him with an expression caught between admiration and hunger.

On the third day, he and Hannibal went walking at dusk, ranging afield through the thin fog that hugged the sparse woods. The cabin was never far from sight, and Will didn’t fail to notice that Hannibal had left all the lights on when they left. The cabin was a warm, glowing beacon in the cool dark, but they often kept their back to it so as not to spoil their stargazing. The whole world felt hushed as if it were still guarding itself from the long winter as they picked their way among the trees. Will had never felt the sweet suspended tension of the night more acutely than he did in this moment, knowing it reflected his own heart back to him as much as anything. 

And so, as they walked, Will let himself fall a few steps behind Hannibal to switch sides, and reached out to him with his good hand. At first, his fingers curled into the warm hollow of Hannibal’s palm. There was a moment of stillness, though they never broke stride, and then Hannibal laced their fingers together. He looked down at Will briefly with an amused smile that stole his breath and made heat ride up in his cheeks. He found he could only withstand the intensity of Hannibal’s gaze for a few seconds before his feet shuffling through the dead grass became incredibly interesting.

“Are you finding the things you can ask for?” Hannibal asked, his tone holding the same amusement as his smile.

Will nodded. A space of silence passed as they watched a flock of geese fly overhead. “Do you want more?” he asked, still not able to fully look Hannibal in the eye though he stole fleeting glances.

“I want everything,” he answered enigmatically, that wonderful smile coloring his voice. “But I am content.” 

Will nodded again. “I wish I could ask to just not ever leave here.” He cast his eyes around and breathed in the damp air. 

“Why is that? This certainly isn’t terribly comfortable.”

“It’s more comfortable than my house back in Wolf Trap.” 

“I will give you that.” Hannibal acquiesced. “I’ll get you accustomed to luxury yet.”

Will’s boot found a pinecone and he kicked along in his path. “There is comfort in the… uncomplicated. Things here are simple. I feel like I could just… find my way here. Our way… maybe. There’s nothing to think about. We leave and we have to think. Plan our every move because they are looking for us.”

Hannibal skated his thumb down Will’s knuckles, being careful to avoid the stitches that still threaded his skin together. “Think of this as a purgatory, Will.” he replied gently. “A place to meditate and contemplate and heal. A place from which you will break through into greater wonder.”

“Europe?” Will asked, actually daring to look up into his face.

“And so much more.” Hannibal answered with a dark eyed smile. “Leave the planning to me. I know well the route to Paradise.” Then he leaned over to press his lips into Will’s hair.

Will wasn’t sure if he was concerned or comforted by the prospect, but the warmth of Hannibal’s breath against his curls chased away his worries.

***

On the fourth day, a letter arrived in their mailbox on the main road. It had an outer envelope with only a printed street address, but inside was another envelope which was addressed to both Hannibal and Will with elegant, curling penmanship.

“Who is it from? Who would know how to find us out here?” Will asked, his perpetual frown deepening with concern.

“Who else? It is my lovely Bedelia.” Hannibal answered, giving a fond if predatory curl of his lips as he slit the top of the envelope with a kitchen knife. A sheaf of heavy weighted linen paper fell out into his open hand and he squinted at it. “Ah. She requests the pleasure of our company.” he said with no small amount of amusement. “Seems she is the only one to know that we’ve survived our foray into the Atlantic. She always did have such good faith in me. I’m glad I’ve got a trove of evening wear here. I’m sure we can find something for you as well.”

Will blinked abruptly. “You’re actually going to go?” He asked incredulously.

“It is addressed to you as well so I think we both should. It would be rude to refuse such a polite request.” He answered playfully, his eyes glittering with a dangerous spark.

“Hannibal,” Will breathed his name and acquired his undivided attention. “How can you be sure it’s not a trap?”

Hannibal considered the paper in his hands for a moment, pursing his lips before pronouncing his diagnosis. “Dr. Du Maurier has accepted her fate, I think.”

“How can you be sure? It’s just a letter. She could write anything, and she knows you better than anyone… except me.”

“Except you.” Hannibal agreed with an enigmatic but fond smile. “And you’re correct. She does know me. And so she tips her hand with this.”

Will sighed and frowned. “What does the letter say?”

“It isn’t a letter.” Hannibal held out the paper for Will to see. “It’s an invitation to dinner.”

***

Will twisted and fidgeted in his seat as they drove. The suit he was wearing had been acquired hastily at a department store en route and thus fit about as well as any suit ever seemed to fit him. It seemed at once to be too big, and too confining. And he’d foregone the sling in the name of aesthetics and arrogance, so every movement pained his injured shoulder. He could see Hannibal looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he drove, a thoroughly amused smile playing across his wide mouth.

“What.” He snarked, scratching where the not-entirely-silk tie knotted at his throat. That was Hannibal’s doing, and the knot was so arcane that Will wasn’t sure he’d be able to undo it again without his help. Maybe that had been on purpose, but he didn’t let himself dwell on that for too long. He was hot and uncomfortable enough as it was.

“You look very handsome.” Hannibal replied simply, returning his focus to the road. “Though I think you will cut an even more striking figure in something actually made for you.”

“You mean like… a tailor?”

“Yes, I mean exactly that.”

“You intend to dress me when we get to Europe?” Will asked incredulously.

“Well, I certainly don’t intend to let you go about in flannel and ill-fitting jeans. You’ll look like a tourist. And you certainly won’t be welcome in any sort of received society.”

“What do you mean?”

“The opera. The university functions.” Hannibal listed.

“Hannibal, we’ll be in hiding!”

“I did all these things when I was hiding from you. And now they don’t even have the benefit of your insight, so I’m not worried. We will be able to afford a bit of fun.”

Will frowned but didn’t argue further. In all fairness, he hadn’t been looking all that hard for Hannibal in Florence at first. And when he did begin his search in earnest, it hadn’t taken long to sniff him out, even by the most circuitous route imaginable. He didn’t like the idea of parading around in society. He didn’t even like the idea of this dinner at Bedelia’s. It all felt like a trap. But then, other people had always felt like a trap. One that he had become quite adept at giving the slip over the years. He bit his lip and looked at Hannibal, slowly realizing that it wasn’t his freedom he feared for. 

They arrived at Bedelia’s house at precisely 8pm. Will nervously smoothed at his suit as Hannibal confidently reached to knock on the door. At the first strike of his knuckles, it swung inward, and warm air and sweet music drifted out onto the front steps. Hannibal looked back at Will, his eyes sparkling and shrugged before stepping inside.

They followed the sound of lulling piano and the delicious smell of food into the long dining room that Will had only glimpsed when he’d arrived at for his sessions with Dr. Du Maurier. It had been shuttered and curtained like a hospital ward before, but now it was bathed in golden light that flickered at every utensil, window, and crystal in the chandelier. The woman herself sat at the far end of a long and elegantly appointed table, dressed in a fitted blue evening gown with her golden hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. 

“Good evening, gentlemen.” she said with a warm, lazy smile. “I’m so glad you both could make it.” Will did not miss that her words held the characteristic slur they’d carried since she’d returned from Europe, though somewhat heavier now than it had been before. “Forgive me for not getting up to greet you. I’m afraid I’ve put myself at a bit of a disadvantage in the name of hospitality.”

“The gesture is appreciated.” Hannibal replied as he strode past the table towards Bedelia. 

Will frowned. She was implying something albeit clumsily, probably due to whatever medication she was on. It wasn’t until he really looked at the table that he realized what had happened.

There on a bed of steaming stones sat a leg. Her leg. Bound in sickly sweet-smelling bright green leaves, surrounded by exotic fruit, and still smoking. The sight nearly made his stomach rebel but not as much as the sight of Hannibal bending over Bedelia’s hand to kiss it. She closed her eyes, relief mixed with euphoria (the drugs again, probably), and smiled.

“We take no offense. You’ve done enough this evening. Allow me to serve?” Hannibal offered genially as he moved to help Will to his seat with a bit of flourish.

Will moved sluggishly, as if through a dream. Images came unbidden… her dosing herself with narcotics and pulling out a long knife from her kitchen block. Where had she done it? In the kitchen probably? He imagined the knife slipping from her clumsy, blood-slicked fingers and he had to visibly shake himself in order to sit down without collapsing. Bedelia gave him a knowing smile, her eyelids drooping as she reached over to pat his hand. “Will, It’s good to see you alive and well.”

“Mostly well.” Will muttered, trying to smile but only succeeding in baring his teeth.

“Not much can kill the devil,” She winked at Hannibal. “But I was worried you might fall victim to your quarry. Thank you for the menu suggestion, by the way.” Bedelia turned back to Hannibal as he finished rolling up his sleeves and took up the carving knife. “Will warned me you might give the authorities the slip.”

“Did he?” Hannibal smirked over the roast at Will, as he sank the knife into the meat. Juices from the meat flowed and hissed into steam on the hot stones, filling the room with an undeniably delicious smell. Will swallowed against his gag reflex so hard that his tongue cramped.

He looked over at Bedelia Du Maurier… or the ruin that once was the fine psychiatrist and socialite. She nodded and swayed in her chair, so encumbered by the drugs that masked the pain and panic of missing a limb that she had to grip the table edge to remain upright in her chair. And Will didn’t miss that she had a fork clutched tightly in her left hand. But she watched Hannibal carve her leg with such rapt attention. For the first time since he awoke to find himself in the cabin Will feared for what might happen to him in Hannibal’s company. It was an old fear. One that he had written off as foolish. But now, seeing Bedelia and what she had been reduced to by his influence made it come roaring back to the surface.

“Will?” Hannibal’s voice brought him crashing down to the uncomfortable reality. “Your plate please.”

“Sorry.” He muttered, carefully lifting the thin porcelain plate and allowing Hannibal to serve him. Thankfully, he was merciful in the portion size.

“You’ll have to forgive my culinary skills. I’m not nearly so practiced as Hannibal.” Bedelia mused as Hannibal filled her plate from the center piece. Unlike Will, Hannibal gave her a large helping of everything.

“It is a rustic preparation, but ambitious in more ways than just size.” Hannibal noted blandly. “Often such techniques require a certain honesty about one’s ingredients, for there’s nothing else to hide them. Wine?”

“Chilling on the side board.” Bedelia answered, gesturing limply towards a nearby table where I wine bottle poked its neck out of a bucket of ice. “It was the first time in a long time that I’ve had to guess at a pairing.”

Will couldn’t help but snort at that exchange. He stared down at his plate, fighting against the roiling pile of snakes that had taken up residence in his stomach. At least the roast was well done. He might have had to take a trip to the bathroom if it had been rare, or if anything about the presentation had hinted at blood. Though he imagined Hannibal would have a thing or two to say about her technique later. He decided to brace himself now.

After Hannibal poured the wine (she had chosen white) and took his seat, there was a long silence as everyone contemplated their plate. Hannibal took his time, meticulously slicing his portion of the roast before spearing a piece and bringing it up to eye level for consideration. Then, after turning it this way and that, he pulled it off his fork with a slight baring of his teeth. Bedelia mimicked him, making him give her a thoroughly amused smile. And Will, took a deep breath, cut himself a small, ragged bite and before he could talk himself out of it, he popped it in his mouth.

It was impossible not to think about the taste. Hannibal had clearly taught her a thing or two about the culinary arts. The flavors were strong but well balanced, and it was all Will could do to not admit that he actually was enjoying it. He decided it was best to stick to the small pile of the accompanying tropical fruit Hannibal had been so kind to bless his plate with.

“I truthfully didn’t think you’d answer my invitation.” Bedelia commented before taking a long swallow of her wine.

“Why is that?” Hannibal asked mildly, chewing with great consideration as he waited for Bedelia’s answer.

“I figured you boys would be too busy making up for lost time.” she answered with a leering grin.

Will felt all his blood rush into his face as Bedelia laughed at her own joke.

Hannibal pulled his face into a grimace. “Hardly good dinner conversation, Bedelia” he chastised gently. “You’ve gone through so much effort to give us a lovely evening together. It would be a shame to ruin it with such banality.”

She snorted, her eyes flicking to Will and narrowing when he refused to look her in the face. “You haven’t yet. Have you?”

Will swallowed a long drink of wine under her scrutinizing gaze. It did nothing to cool the blood pounding in his cheeks. He couldn’t come up with a dignified response so he kept his attention on his dinner. The irony was not lost on him that eating human flesh was somehow easier than discussing his relationship with Hannibal.

She looked back and forth between them incredulously. “We’ve had this conversation.” she lectured shrilly. “We’ve all had this conversation. Just the two of you haven’t had it with each other, apparently.” Bedelia said, her speech slurring further. “You might want to get to that. None of us are getting any younger.”

Hannibal sighed heavily and set down his knife and fork. “Oh Bedelia. This was going to be such a lovely evening.”

“It still is.” she replied taking another long sip of her wine.

“I’m glad you still think so.” Hannibal said wearily as he took up the carving knife. Without even standing from his chair, he let his hand flick out, sinking the knife deep into her neck and slicing her carotid artery. Blood fountained from the ruptured vessel, and Hannibal nimbly leapt from his seat to dodge out of the path of the spray. Will could only watch in dumb horror as Bedelia bled out and collapsed over her half finished plate. 

Will pushed back from the table and stood. He blinked owlishly at Hannibal who was carefully wiping down the cutlery and glasses with a clean napkin. Then he looked down at Bedelia. The fork she had armed herself with never left the table, though it was still clutched so tightly in her hand that her tendons stood out white under her skin.

“You weren’t expecting that.” Hannibal observed with a passive tone.

“Just not so quickly.” Will answered honestly. Rubbing his face and checking himself for bloodstains. “But… she was expecting that, I think.”

“She just wanted it on her terms.” Hannibal said cocking his head and gazing pitilessly down at her still body.

“You said yourself that she had accepted her fate. She just wanted to bargain with the Devil.”

“And I am the Devil?”

“I think we both are in this case.” Will said, smoothing out his pants in an effort to hide the fact that he was wiping sweat from his palms. Then in a quick, arguably compulsive motion, he stepped close to Bedelia’s corpse and reached out with a napkin covered hand to shut her eyes. He’d had enough of corpses staring at him for one lifetime.

“You don’t like that I killed her.” Hannibal remarked, coming to stand behind him.

“Well, she practically was begging for it, so I wasn’t going to stop you. But… She helped me. Or at least talked to me. When you… when I couldn’t go to you.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t.”

“A bit of both.” he shuffled his feet and pitched the napkin onto the table. “She helped me. Made me realize a lot of things about both of us.”

“She talked about me? How rude. Whatever happened to doctor patient confidentiality?”

“She wasn’t just my therapist any more than she was just yours, and you know it. Better than anyone.” Will replied, regarding Bedelia’s corpse. “No one is wholly any single thing, or if they are, I believe we call it pathology.” 

Hannibal’s frown deepened as he considered that. “Such as Francis Dolarhyde?”

“I think I can agree with that statement, unless you want to discuss it further.”

“Perhaps later.” Hannibal nodded absently. “Come. We want to be far from here when they find her.”

As they passed the table, Hannibal reached out and snatched a blood-soaked pinch of the roast and popped it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and licked the juice from his fingers like a preening cat before pronouncing, “She cooked it at too high a temperature and that made it dry. Pity she did herself such a disservice, but she insisted.”

“Seriously?” Will asked, aghast. “That’s what you have to say?”

“Read into her technique if you like. I certainly do.” He replied with a gallant shrug as went to fetch his coat.

***

The ride to the airport was silent until Will finally worked up the nerve to ask a question that had been circling in his mind long before Bedelia indelicately brought up the matter.

“Do you plan on sleeping with me?”

Hannibal grimaced. “Such baseness was unpleasant on her. It certainly doesn’t become you.”

“It’s only base because it makes you uncomfortable. If I was asking anyone else, you would be amused. Like you were about Alana.”

Hannibal remained uncharacteristically silent.

“So do you?”

“It has certainly been a fantasy I’ve entertained.” He replied, his tone now more careful than a cornered politician. “But it is not the only ecstatic expression of my love for you that is at my disposal.”

“So you’ll use the word ‘love’ now?” Will asked. “Bedelia certainly did when we would talk about you.”

“It seems I have been caught.” he said, giving a small shrug. “To do otherwise would be even more dishonest.”

WIll was silent for a long time, staring out the window as the darkened landscape slid past.

“You really are troubled that I killed Bedelia.” Hannibal remarked with no small amount of surprise.

Will nodded, feeling a little guilty though he couldn’t fathom why.

“You of all people must understand why. She betrayed my trust. Did something unforgivable, and then was rude enough to discuss private matters at the dinner table. I promised her I would come to call on her if I ever had the opportunity. For sins that far out strip any of her behavior tonight. And you were right in accusing her of wanting to strike a bargain with the “Devil” as you put it. Her gesture was grand but it was also base, and that I cannot forgive.”

“I’m not surprised.” Will clarified, still not looking at him. “Do you plan to make a habit of killing people in Europe?” 

“If I find they are deserving. You and I could become infamous you know?” Hannibal smirked at Will out of the corner of his eye. “Inspiring fear and awe long after we are dust.”

“You’ll get us caught.” Will retorted flatly.

“That’s somewhat shortsighted, though I suppose it might seem inevitable to you. Do you have a plan to stop me?”

“Well,” Will rubbed his neck and made a futile effort to free himself of his tie. “You kill in an effort to rid the world of… the uncouth shall we say.”

“Simplistic, but I won’t disagree just yet.”

“And you know that this will eventually get you, and by extension me caught.”

Hannibal made a small noise in grudging agreement.

Will was wrapped himself in silent thought for a moment. Then he spoke, eyes unfocused as he recalled something at once both close and distant in his mind. “"No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend."”

Hannibal blinked twice and then abruptly pulled the car over into an empty lot. When they were stopped he turned to Will, his stare piercing in its severity. “What are you suggesting, Will?” He asked darkly.

There it was again. His name on Hannibal’s lips. Would it always be such an irresistible force?

Will forced air into his lungs as he forced the idea to take shape. “Let the one that suffers be me.” he said, voice shaking audibly. “I will bear the punishment for the one who has sinned against you and keep you from your own fate in the bargain.”

Hannibal regarded him very closely. “Do you understand what you’re asking?”

“You wouldn’t kill me.” Will said with a flat certainty that surprised even him.

“Wouldn’t I?” he replied dangerously.

“Maybe you would have once. You certainly tried.”

“I never meant… you forced my hand. Lied to me. Tried to kill me.”

“But you forgave me. As I forgave you.” Will reminded him. “You won’t try to kill me now. Not now that I’m yours.”

“Are you?” Hannibal asked, a fierceness creeping into his voice and coiling like a snake. “Mine?”

Will nodded, as his throat tightened and words failed him. “I don’t… I don’t really know how to be. But I am.” Then he braved a look at Hannibal’s face. “Haven’t I always been?”

Hannibal didn’t reply at first, and instead started to reach for him and stopped short. “You would let me…”

“Anything.” Will whispered, dropping his gaze but not withdrawing from Hannibal’s hand. “Just as you told me.”

Hannibal regarded him very seriously for a moment before he nodded. He sat back, never having reached for him, and placed his hands on the wheel. “If only Lucifer had such a companion. Come. We will want to be far away from here when they find her.”

“How far?”

“An ocean away.” Hannibal smiled at him then. A real smile that pressed wrinkles around his eyes that never showed otherwise.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about dinner with Dr. Du Maurier: I began writing this fic well before the Season 3 DVDs came out, so I had a few ideas about how the dinner scene at the very end of the season would tie into my story. In the commentary for Wrath of the Lamb, Bryan Fuller confirms that in fact it was Hannibal who amputates Bedelia's leg, and the place settings are for Hannibal and Will. I considered going back and rewriting the scene, but Will being appalled at the idea of killing Dr. Du Maurier is sort of crucial to the direction I want to go with his character. So, I opted to not rewrite.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos and sent comments! I really appreciate your kind words.


	3. The True Hearts That Loved the Place of Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Crawford enlists the help of a reluctant Alana Bloom to help find Will and Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. As I said before, this fic is finished (save for an epilogue that's about 1/3 done). I'm just taking my time editing and getting it beta-read.
> 
> Speaking of which, many thanks to LawlessDragon for being my beta reader on this chapter while HexMeridian is busy with tech for a play.
> 
> The only specific warnings for this chapter are for blood/gore and discussion of graphic violence. Nothing out of the ordinary for the show... a bit tamer in some ways actually. But all the same... 
> 
> Many thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated as always! Enjoy!

Dr. Alana Bloom stood in Jack Crawford’s office in Quantico, and watched the rain drench the empty training yard. It was the kind of rain she had always hated. Cold, and straight down. No wind. No lightning. Nothing to suggest an impending storm, or the promise of clearer days to come. Just a static, soaking downpour that made the whole world seem like it would be eternally sluggish and gray.

She especially hated it now. She’d had to wait in rain like this outside Hannibal’s house when the newly arisen Abigail Hobbs had pushed her out the window. With her mind muddied with pain and shock, she had no idea how long she’d laid there in the rain with, among other injuries, a severely broken pelvis until EMS arrived and scrape her off the pavement. She still had to use a cane sometimes when it rained like this, though thankfully not today.

Unconsciously, she pressed her painted lips together as the memory of that evening came unbidden. She’d trusted Will to give them Dr. Lecter then, too. Not warn him. Not give him the chance to escape. Even as someone who shunned superstition, she was starting to see rain like this as a herald of bad news.

Crawford was wrapping up a phone call as she waited, At first she had tried petulantly to be nosy and listen, but as she watched the rain, she found couldn’t bring herself to care. She wasn’t even really sure why she had come rather than remaining in hiding with Margot and Preston. She was many things at that moment, but suicidal was definitely not one of them.

Jack finally hung up the phone and turned to her with a broad smile. “Dr. Bloom, thank you for braving the weather to come.” he said, his voice far too bright and cheerful.

“Unless the Weather Channel forecasts “Showers with a chance of being murdered and eaten by your ex-lover,” I don’t think the rain is what I’m braving.” she replied tartly. “What can I do for you, Jack.”

Jack visibly deflated, his smile fading. “So you know we’ve found Bedelia Du Maurier’s body?”

“I hit the high points in the file. Namely, that Hannibal is alive, and free and most likely has Will with him. It’s enough to know that what you’re planning is a bad idea. Whatever it is.” She answered, her words clipped.

Jack pressed his lips together and sighed. “I’m sorry about all this, Alana, I really am-”

“Oh yes. You’re really sorry.” she snapped. “Well, thank you. It makes Margot and me feel so much better that even though Hannibal is loose and for all we know, looking for us right now, you’re sorry. He threatened me and my family, Jack, just like he threatened Dr. Du Maurier and now you’ve found her body. It’s not hard for me to see where this goes. I should have fucking told you no.”

“If you’re that concerned for your family’s safety, then you can go.” Jack said, with a look of authentic concern.

“That’s not what I mean.” She bit back, pacing away from the window with her arms folded. “I mean that when you came to me with your hair-brained scheme about using Hannibal as bait for Francis Dolarhyde, I should have told you no.”

“The trap for Dolarhyde was Will Graham’s idea.” Jack defended.

“Well, we all know how I feel about his ability to make decisions involving Hannibal Lecter.” She responded, glowering at him as she paced in front of his desk. She was clearly daring him to push the issue.

Jack knit his hands together on his desk and tried to reclaim some semblance of decorum and dignity. “Have you had a chance to review the preliminary file on both cases?”

“Yes.” She said, biting the word off. “I read them on the flight.”

“So you know that Dr. Du Maurier served herself up, not the other way around.”

“And that is supposed to make me feel better?”

“Look.” Crawford said, fixing her with a dark stare. “Don’t be mad at me when it’s Will Graham you’re really angry at. I don’t have time for that bullshit, Alana. Between you, and Will, and Hannibal Lecter, I’m looking into a serious overhaul of policies regarding interpersonal relationships around here.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again with a click of her teeth. She was honestly struck by the insight. Crawford had always been smart, but never quite so insightful. Will had probably rubbed off on him a little after all. Pity the true empathy hadn’t. It would do him some good, but mostly it would be of great help to those around him.

“You really think they went to see Du Maurier together?” She asked, her voice demurred. 

“They did a good job of wiping everything down, but there were two place settings at the table aside from Dr. Du Maurier’s. Both were used, so it’s a safe bet.”

“And it wasn’t suicide?”

“Depends on your definition of suicide.” Jack shrugged, “But in the strictest terms no. The amputation was self inflicted, but the killing blow was not.”

“Do we know who actually killed her?”

Jack shook his head. “No, not with any certainty. No fingerprints on the murder weapon. Trace analysis hasn’t come back yet.”

“So for all we know, Will has finally succumbed to Hannibal’s intentions?”

“It’s not impossible. He certainly didn’t let Hannibal have all the fun with Dolarhyde.” Jack allowed. “But I hold out hope.”

“Why?”

“He resisted this long?”

Alana sniffed and shook her head.

Jack sighed and slumped back in his chair. “I need your help on this, Alana.” he said with a defeated tone. “I want to catch him. Both of them, I guess. And I have no one to help me do it. No one who thinks like they do.”

She snorted. “No one thinks like they do. Least of all me. Chilton won’t help you? I figure he’d want some payback.”

Jack shook his head. “He wants nothing to do with us. Especially not on this. And Hannibal knows how to play him like a fiddle. It would be a terrible idea.”

“Glad you are starting to recognize bad ideas when you have them. “ she quipped. “I don’t know if I can help you. Even if I am the brilliant profiler Will was… is… it would be a risk first and foremost. I have a wife and son to think about.”

“But what about Will?”

“What about him?” she asked a little more bitterly than she’d meant to.

“What if he’s not with Hannibal of his own free will?” Jack postulated.

Alana scoffed. “For someone who works at the FBI, you are bafflingly naive sometimes, Jack. Have you seen those two together? Did you ever look at Will when Hannibal was in the room? Or vice versa? When they thought no one was looking, their eyes would hang on each other like art on Hannibal’s walls.”

Jack sighed. “Maybe. But I just have a hard time believing that Will would turn on a dime and murder Dr. Du Maurier. Help Hannibal kill Dolarhyde? Sure. Especially after what he did to his family.”

“What Hannibal had Dolarhyde do to his family.” Alana corrected.

He raised his hands and gave an acquiescing nod. “But something just doesn’t add up about the whole situation.”

“You just don’t want it to.” She replied, turning back to the deluge out the window. It was raining harder now. The water drumming on the roof was creating a lulling static. “None of us want it to.”

“Just promise me you’ll think about it.” Jack said softly. “I understand you have other considerations.”

“I’ll think about it.” Alana replied softly. “Can I see the bodies? I’ll at least make the trip worthwhile and see what I can tell you about them.”

“Du Maurier and Dolarhyde?” 

“Yes, please.”

“Zeller and Price should be able to pull them out for us.” he answered congenially as he stood from his desk and tapped a message out on his phone. “What are you hoping to find?”

“Will.” she answered, still not really looking up as she followed him down the hall.

“Trying to see things how he would see them?”

She gave a faint shake of her head. “Trying to see him.”

***

Zeller and Price both smiled when Alana arrived in the autopsy room, and she couldn’t help but reflect it back to them. Something in their eyes told her they understood what she was going through, at least a little. They’d lost a colleague to this mess, too. Though Beverly Katz was not still walking around, possibly killing old acquaintances. She envied them that at least.

“I hear you’re on this case now?” Zeller asked, sounding genuinely pleased.

“Possibly.” Alana replied evasively.

“Then, I take it you want to see the latest in the collection.” Price asked, with his usual false sort of brightness.

“Please.” Jack had answered.

The two set to work and quickly had the bodies of both Francis Dolarhyde and Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier out on display for Alana.

“Where would you like to start, Dr. Bloom?” Jack asked, gently.

Alana sucked on her bottom lip in an attempt to look penseive, but it was mostly to try and quiet the static that filled her brain. Was this how it felt to be Will? Overwhelmed by violence and death so that you couldn’t look away? Or was the static what kept her from feeling what it was like when he looked at bodies? She blinked slowly and tried to think. “Dolarhyde first.” she said softly, stepping towards the male corpse on the right-hand slab. 

“Chronological order?” Jack asked.

She gave a tight, contained little shake of her head. “No, just… you said that he was killed by both Hannibal and Will?”

“Two different weapons with their fingerprints.” Price replied, pulling up pictures of a small knife and a rusty hand axe, both so drenched with blood, Alana wondered how they’d managed to hold on to them during the fight. “Will had the knife, which he took from Dolarhyde. It was graced with both their prints. And Hannibal sported the axe which he picked up from the wood pile when the fight moved outside.”

“Show me.” Alana asked, jerking her chin at the body.

Zeller arranged the sheet, as Price began pointing to the now clean and bloodless wounds. “We’re fairly certain that the wounds resulting in death were here, from the knife,” he pointed with his gloved pinky across the grinning abdominal wound. “And here.” He indicated what was quite clearly a human bite mark, gouging a large chunk from Dolarhyde throat that spanned from his jugular to his windpipe.

“Do we know whose teeth?” Alana asked, her voice unconsciously tight.

“We’re fairly sure it’s Hannibal’s, but we don’t really know for sure since the flesh doesn’t give a clean indentation and we don’t have an impression of Will’s teeth.” Zeller replied.

“But there’s an argument to be made for Hannibal’s teeth, since this long slice was from the knife, wielded by Will.” Price pointed out.

That made some of the tension in Alana’s gut unwind. “So, death by exsanguination?”

“That’s correct.” Price answered.

“You said there were other wounds?”

“Yes, and they may be the ones that prove more interesting.” Zeller responded, with a thoughtful pull of his mouth.

Price pulled up a chart that listed the catalogued injuries and began pointing them out on the corpse, frequently consulting his notes to make sure he didn’t miss one. “Three stab wounds from the knife here, here, and here,” he pointed to each injury on Dolarhyde’s flank, “Here and here from the axe.” He indicated to the expertly severed ligaments in the right leg, “And here on the left knee. And another severed ligament, from the knife this time. All inflicted prior to death.” 

Alana was silent for a moment as she categorized the wounds. “Were they hurt? Hannibal and Will?” she asked, easing around the table to get a better look at some of the cuts.

“Judging by the amount of blood at the scene, we’re fairly certain both were severely injured by Dolarhyde at some point.” Zeller answered. “We believe Lecter was shot, probably in the abdomen. We found a slug in the remains of a shattered wine bottle alongside a rather large pool of his blood. And we think that Will Graham was stabbed at least once or twice, probably with the knife he in turn used to slit up Dolarhyde.”

“In fact, I was betting they were both dead in the Atlantic.” Price chimed in. “Blood loss and turbulent waters do not a happy ending make.”

“What do you make of this, Dr. Bloom?” Jack asked, quietly. She didn’t miss that it was the same tone of voice he used when addressing Will at a crime scene.

Alana made another half circle around the body, taking a moment to order her thoughts. “Organs missing?”

“Nope.” Zeller replied. “Which makes me even more sure that they took a tumble over that cliff. We found a significant amount of their blood at the edge.”

She pressed her lips together and swallowed. She could see the answer looming in front of her nose. Not because of great insight or wisdom, but because it had been a possibility hanging in the air since the first time Will and Hannibal met. 

She would regret that meeting to her grave.

“Pack hunting.” She said, her voice soft but clear.

Everyone blinked as the statement settled in the room. 

“What do you mean?” Jack pressed after a moment.

She cleared her throat and straightened her spine as she explained. “We know Francis Dolarhyde was incredibly strong. He was able to pick up Will and throw him against an elevator wall and then halfway down a hallway. Neither of Will nor Hannibal was an even match for him, especially after Hannibal was shot, which I imagine was what happened first.” She glanced to Zeller who gave a confirming nod. “So, they cooperated to kill him. Much like a pack of wolves cooperates to bring down prey much larger than themselves. They first harass and ultimately cripple their prey,” She gestured to the severed tendons and ligaments in Dolarhyde’s legs. “Before they deliver the killing blows.” 

She stared down at the corpse and was silent. Part of her longed to see this as Will would. To not just understand and diagnose, but to experience it. She could imagine it. See Will, already wounded and desperate, coiling himself to strike. See the blood on Hannibal’s lips. Staining his even, white teeth. But ultimately she shied away from it out of her well-worn desire for ignorance as far as the actions of Will Graham were concerned.

“So do you feel the same about the murder of Dr. Du Maurier?” Jack asked.

Alana shook herself and drifted towards the other body. “I don’t know.” she said, her voice sounding distant in her own ears. “She also died of exsanguination?”

“Well, partially.” Zeller replied, arranging the sheet as he spoke. “She had probably already lost a great deal of blood because of the amputation, so it wasn’t going to take much more to render her unconscious, especially with the frankly astounding pharmaceutical cocktail in her system.”

“But this is also worth noting.” Price chimed in, whipping out an x-ray with a bit of flourish. “The knife went in at a very precise location and angle. It slipped between her cervical vertebrae, severing her spinal cord as well as her carotid artery. She was likely dead or at least unconscious before she hit the table.”

“That sounds like Lecter’s work.” Jack said, folding his arms.

“We thought so, too.” Price agreed.

“It’s not to say Will couldn’t have done it.” Zeller added. “But he would have had to have been extraordinarily lucky to land a shot like that. That kind of precision is more likely to be Hannibal’s work.”

“No, I agree.” Alana said with a small nod as she passed the x-ray back. “Hannibal killed her.”

“You sound surer than the rest of us.” Jack remarked, cocking his head.

Alana flipped through the file for the Du Maurier murder that lay open on the counter. “You said that there were two place settings. One on either side of Dr. Du Maurier, who sat at the head of the table.”

“That’s right.” Jack confirmed as Zeller and Price gave answering nods.

“This place setting still had food on it, and this plate was almost clean?” She pointed as if the dinner guests were flanking Du Maurier’s corpse.

“Yep.” Price replied. “Gold star for a clean plate.”

“And the blow came from here.” She mimed the swing of the knife from the left. “Hannibal sat here. Will wouldn’t have finished his dinner, and so couldn’t have dealt the killing blow.”

“You don’t think so?” Jack asked. “You just talked about him pack hunting with Hannibal not ten minutes ago.”

“When they were killing Dolarhyde, who would have certainly killed them both had they not fought back. Together. And there’s the attack on Will’s family to consider.” Alana clarified, as she continued to flip through the file. “The file mentioned linen fibers on Dr. Du Maurier’s eyelids?”

“Yes. Same fabric as the napkins.” Price confirmed.

“And she was facing towards her left when she collapsed on the table, which meant she was looking at Will Graham as she bled out.” She showed them the picture of the body at the crime scene. “Will covered his hand with a napkin and closed her eyes before they left.” She flipped the folder closed and turned back to face them. “He bore Bedelia Du Maurier no ill will. He told me that he actually went to her to talk about Hannibal after he was captured. I think they were the only ones in all the world who could relate on that subject.”

“Huh.” Jack responded, noncommittally. 

“You don’t agree.” she retorted flatly.

“You’re biased when it comes to Will Graham.” he answered.

“We all are.” Alana replied. “Yourself included. I’m just looking at the evidence and giving my opinion. Yes, he helped kill Dolarhyde. Yes, he was present when Dr. Du Maurier was murdered, but he did not kill her. Evidence suggests that he barely ate any of her, and he gave her gesture of honor to her in death, however small.”

“But he didn’t try to stop Hannibal.” Jack pointed out. 

She had to shrug at that. “Maybe he’s still too injured to put up a fight? Or Hannibal was just too quick.” 

Jack gave an unconvinced shrug. “But this answers our question for sure.” he went on. “Those two are alive and together.”

“They’ll have surely fled the country by now.” Zeller said, disappointment pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“They left that night, I’m fairly certain.” Alana said, hugging her arms around herself.

“Why do you think that?” Price asked.

“Because it’s been more than forty eight hours since Dr. Du Maurier’s death and I’m still alive.” she answered, her voice far too emotionless for such a statement. “Lecter promised to come after me. Told me that I was living on borrowed time and so were Margot and Preston. He probably knows better than to press that issue with Will. Our relationship may be complicated, but unless I pull a gun on one of them, Will won’t let Hannibal touch us.”

“You sound very sure.” Jack said.

“I am. And I feel better now that I know he’s out of the country.”

“So you’ll help us try to catch him?” Jack asked.

“Did you not hear anything Dr. Bloom just said?” Zeller asked, making no secret of his incredulity. “She has a wife and kid. You’d be smart to leave her out of it.”

“That will be her decision.” Jack replied, fixing his eyes on Alana and folding his arms.

Alana only had the energy to roll her eyes. “I said I’ll think about it.”


	4. The House With Open Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings once again!
> 
> No real notes or warnings on this chapter. Just a lovely train ride through the European countryside.
> 
> Many thanks to LawlessDragon for beta-reading. May Alana Bloom, patron saint of bisexuals who are 1000% done, bless you with the ability to give zero fucks.
> 
> And thank you as always for reading! I love seeing your kudos and comments. Keeps my confidence boosted for working on my other fanfiction projects. Much love!

The time they spent traveling felt more like a dream to Will than anything remotely akin to reality. One of those rare, pleasant dreams that required no participation beyond his existence and observance. He would just be carried along from scene to scene, and each event would resolve itself. People would come and go. Vistas would pass by. There was the car to a small airport, and then a private plane. After that, there was a long winding train ride off into the open expanse of eastern France. And he just slipped through it all, easy as anything. He never felt the need to worry or fret. He just went.

The frankly frightening amount of pain medication he was on probably helped with that somewhat. As did Hannibal’s hand, an omnipresent and comforting pressure on his lower back guiding him here and there. He found it easy to follow. Easy to give into. Like a strong rip current, pulling him inexorably out to sea, and threatening to exhaust him if he tried to resist. And that was not the meds. That was all him, and that realization was not new to Will as far as Hannibal was concerned.

But it was no longer frightening. That was new. All his life, Will had scrabbled with bloody hands for control of everything. His life. His mind. His emotions. But now, he found he had no desire to swim against the current any more. He wanted, at long last, to allow himself to be carried.

“How did you manage all this?” Will asked as Hannibal eased him down into the window seat of their private train car. A decanter of red wine and two glasses stood in the center of the white linen covered table before them.

“You inquire now?” Hannibal asked, with an amused pull of his mouth as Will tugged him down in the seat next to him. Their knees rested comfortably together as they had for most of the journey.

“It’s just… it’s pretty astounding. The FBI has to know by now that you’re on the move.”

“And that’s why we are traveling exclusively by private means. I had to call in a few favors… more than a few. But here we are.” He reached for the decanter and poured them both a generous glass. As he passed one to Will, a frown pinched his smooth brow. “Not “we?”” 

“Pardon?” Will asked, awkwardly lacing his fingers around the delicate glass. 

“You said that “The FBI has to know that you’re on the move.” Not that “we” were on the move.”

He went to shrug and thought better of it. “They might think I’m dead.” he replied before taking a long sip.

“They won’t after they find Dr. Du Maurier.”

“They don’t know I left with you.”

“Are you so sure you can hide your intentions?” Hannibal asked with a smirk as he swirled the wine around in his glass before bringing it to his nose.

That made Will flush to the roots of his hair and dropped his eyes to stare into his wineglass. His face was reflected back to him in the ruby red liquid, and for a fleeting second he appeared as he had pictured himself when they had slain Dolarhyde. Skin masked in wet, glistening red, turned black by the moonlight.

Hannibal smiled in earnest then, tucking one of Will’s dark curls behind his ear, careful to avoid the stitched wound that still marred his jawline. “I tried to hide it.” Will mumbled before taking a long drink of his wine.

“You needn’t hide it.” Hannibal told him kindly. “Not now.”

Will didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared out at the zooming countryside. The sloping meadows outside of Paris had given way to structured fields. When they had left the States, winter had still held Northeast firmly in its sodden, numbing grip, but here spring was clearly stirring. Fat, bounding rows of greening lavender bushes scrolled over the hills that stretched out towards the hazy mountains. They were not yet in bloom, but the promise of their sweet perfume already hung in the warming air.

“It will be a hard habit to break.” Will said finally, the words so soft they could hardly be distinguished from a breath.

“For both of us, I fear.” Hannibal conceded as he sipped his wine. “But I assure you that you need not hide from me.”

“I don’t think I can.” Will’s voice was barely audible over the rumble of the train.

“Then let me rephrase.” Hannibal reaching over and taking his hand. “You need not hide from yourself.”

Will looked up at him for the first time since they’d boarded. A flood of memories came rushing over him as Hannibal steadily held his gaze. He looked back at Will as he had when he was ill. As he had in his kitchen before gutting him. As he had at the cliff’s edge. Not a one of them were memories free of blood or strife, and yet… the tenderness that threaded it all together. The ardent want that burned in Hannibal’s inky black gaze. It was what made him second guess everything he did from the moment they’d met.

No more.

Will leaned forward, feeling the twist of pain in his shoulder as it slid across the seat to bump against Hannibal’s. Their lips met a second later, for the first time since he’d awoken in the cabin. Hannibal’s lips were cool from the wine at first, but they warmed as Will slid his tongue across them. He felt as he had before… overcome and a little frightened for reasons he could not grasp. He wanted to dive forward, and clutch at Hannibal, but this time he stayed his hand. 

Time. Hannibal had promised. There would be time.

Will looked up at him with uncertain eyes when they parted, and he found his expression mirrored in the other man. Uncertainty and want swirled together across his smooth face. Hannibal cupped his uninjured cheek and leaned their foreheads together and for a space, they simply breathed. Will felt overwhelmed. So many things he’d only had the barest taste or glimpse of… a brush of shirt cuff, a whiff of cologne, or a knowing flicker of a smile. All things just out of reach… Suddenly, they were surrounding him and he felt himself leaning more and more into Hannibal’s touch both for stability and because he wanted more. He wanted more and he didn’t know what that would do to him.

Hannibal smiled, though Will felt it more than he saw it. 

“What?” Will asked, as he fingered a button on Hannibal’s jacket. It was something to focus on. Something physical that wouldn’t threaten to suck him under.

Hannibal caressed his face, sliding his thumb along his stubbled jaw. “You’re an exquisite thing, Will. And I fear… I fear I might ruin you now. If you let me.”

“You mean the… offer I made when we left Dr. Du Maurier’s?”

Hannibal nodded, turning his face away just a fraction.

Will reached up to press Hannibal’s hand against his cheek. “You said yourself you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Can you think of nothing worse than death?”

“Nothing that you will do to me.” he answered. “Or haven’t already done to me. You don’t make mistakes twice, Hannibal.”

Hannibal made a noncommittal noise and was silent for a moment as he took another long sip of his wine. Will rather unabashedly watched him as he did. Watched the wine slide past and stain his lips and slip down his throat with a slow bob of his Adam’s apple. And watched his tongue snake out to clean a straggling drop from his lower lip. Will unconsciously mirrored the motion, though he found he wanted to lick more than wine off his own lips.

Hannibal was aware he was being observed, and cut Will an amused smile. “So I must ask something rather awkward. Since you seem rather fixated on becoming the focus of my inevitable ire when it shall arise. Many times, people desire sexual gratification to ease their suffering. Is this something you would like?”

Will coughed at the sudden candidness, and covered it with a gulp of his wine. He quickly opted out of old instinct to deflect. “Would you?”

Hannibal smirked at him before leaning over to kiss him, flicking his tongue between his lips and catching a taste of the wine before he pulled away. “I may have what some describe sociopathic tendencies, but I assure you that my sexual desires, while carefully controlled, do exist.”

Will rubbed his neck as heat licked up his face. “I’ve… never. Not with a man.” 

Hannibal hummed lightly. “A virgin sacrifice then… in the truest sense of the word.” Hannibal replied with a smile that could cut glass. He finished his wine and poured himself another glass as Will shifted in his seat, clearly struck by the florid diagnosis of the situation. “But,” Hannibal went on. “That wasn’t a “yes.” I’ve no intention to force you. I want to know what you want since you seem intent on being all I want.”

Will nodded and leaned over to lay his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, heedless of how it made the stab wound under his collar bone ache. He needed to be close to Hannibal, suddenly. “Am I all you want?” He asked not looking up.

Hannibal was struck dumb for a moment by the earnestness in his voice. He tipped Will’s face up to his. How young he looked with that wanting little smile curling his perfect mouth. “And more, Will.” he breathed. “I said I would give you a taste for the finer things. I want to enjoy them with you. See you experience things for the first time.”

Will couldn’t resist arching an eyebrow at him salaciously.

Hannibal chuckled softly, a deep, warm rumble that Will could feel in his bones. “Yes,” he stole a kiss from his infuriatingly lovely mouth. “That and more besides.”

“Then… yes, that’s what I want.” Will answered candidly.

Hannibal smiled at him then, with a fondness that made Will’s chest ache. He let himself sag closer to Hannibal until he urged him to lie down with his head on his knee. Will let himself sink into the sensation. The brilliant flavor of the wine on his tongue, mixed with the taste of Hannibal’s mouth. The soft rasp of Hannibal’s pants on his stubbled cheek. The increasingly distant chatter of the rails beneath them. And the wonderful blossom of warmth in his chest as Hannibal snugged his overcoat around his shoulders. He drifted to dreamless sleep with the touch of Hannibal’s fingers playing delicately through his curls.

***  
The train carried them on through the night and into the next day. Will slept for most of it, profoundly exhausted from the travel and his slowly healing wounds. Normally, he would have chafed at being kept indoors and confined for such a length of time, but he felt strangely at ease. Hannibal would take care of everything. And he did. He woke him for dinner and for lunch the next day. Cleaned and re-bandaged his wounds, and even took out the stitches in his knuckle with careful, steady hands. 

The countryside outside the train car window changed, moving from fields, to mountains still dressed in their winter finery. Then the terrain opened into dense forests, pocked with towns that looked like they ought to be in story books. And it all washed together into the dream that had been their flight from the States.

The train stopping didn’t even rouse Will when he’d fallen asleep after lunch. It took Hannibal gently kissing his hand to bring him back to consciousness.

“We are here, Will.” he breathed softly against his cheek. “Come. The car is waiting.” 

Will blinked heavily and sat up, looking out the window. They were at an uncovered train station just outside of another small town, indistinguishable from all the rest.

“Where are we?” He asked blearily.

Hannibal smiled as he helped him to his feet. “We’ve been traveling for days, but you never thought to ask where we were going until now?”

Will shrugged and winced because he’d used his injured shoulder. “It wasn’t that I didn’t think of it. I just didn’t feel the need. It didn’t really matter.”

Hannibal threaded their fingers together as they exited onto the platform. “We are at the train station in Berndorf, Austria. A car will take us to the chateau that an old colleague of mine is allowing us to use on the Veitsauer River.”

“A colleague?” Will asked, a yawn ruining his attempt to be snide.

“An old friend from medical school who I helped out of an unfortunate situation.”

“Who did he kill?”

“No one.” he replied lightly. “He was just practicing medicine, and patients die all the time. But if you’re operating an unauthorized clinic, a patient’s death is generally more frowned upon.”

“Oh.” Will’s eyebrows arched into his hairline. “What happened?”

“A woman from an affluent family in an overwhelmingly Catholic town had a very dangerous illegal abortion to cover up an affair she was having. As is common with such things, she became septic but waited for a very long time to seek more reputable medical assistance. She died before he could do much of anything for her. But unfortunately for my colleague, she died in his clinic which made her his illegal patient.” Hannibal answered as he steered Will towards a waiting black car. “She left behind three young children. Very sad.”

“You think so?” 

“Certainly. I often wonder what became of them, though I never met them myself.” Hannibal answered with an easy shrug. “An orphan’s life is a hard one.”

“Right. Sorry.” Will ducked his head.

Hannibal smiled and placed a soft kiss on his temple. “No need to be sorry.” He whispered as the driver helped them both into the car.

They rode for well over an hour in companionable silence. As the sun sank lower towards the tree-lined hills, they began following a winding creek and where both road and creek bent sharply around a small rise, the chateau came in view. 

Will sat up a little straighter and pressed his face to the far window to get a better look. It was an elegant white two-story building with scrolling gates and tall windows that shone bright in the deepening shadow of the hills that surrounded it. The landscaping was all immaculately maintained in sharp contrast to the deep woods that hugged close to the gates.

“We’re staying here?” Will asked a little breathless. He turned to find Hannibal beaming at his reaction.

“We are.” he answered with one of his rare smiles that bared his teeth.

“For how long?”

“As long as it pleases us.” Hannibal shrugged. “Though I would say that it should be at least through the spring and summer. The seclusion here buys us a certain amount of security, but we are close enough to Vienna to take in the sights and sounds.”

“It’s huge.” Will breathed, looking out the window once more. His words fogged the glass.

“Built in the 1800s, but renovated in the last decade. Seven bedrooms, I’m told, though we’ll hardly have cause to open all of them. It’s a hunting lodge of sorts, though my associate doesn’t ever hunt anymore.”

“This is a hunting lodge?”

“To the nobility of the Old World? Yes. Hunts were a sort of informal seasonal party rather than a solitary and introspective foray into the bowels of nature. A chance to socialize away from the confines of proper society. My associate used to throw some incredibly intimate but lavish gatherings here.”

“Will I ever get to meet this associate of yours?”

“I sincerely doubt it. We might have a chance meeting at the opera. He prefers the life he’s rebuilt for himself in Oslo.”

Will snorted. “You like the seclusion of a chateau in the Austrian forest, but you still want to go to the opera.”

Hannibal shrugged and smiled. “I cannot give up all my vices.” 

Will couldn’t resist easing back towards Hannibal to steal another kiss as they passed the gate.

When they arrived, the driver gave them a quick tour and let them know that a cold repast of cheese, wine and cured meat was waiting in the kitchen. Then he awkwardly saw himself out.

“Normally, this place would have servants.” Hannibal explained as they wandered back to the kitchen. “Half a dozen at least, not to speak of those needed to run the stable and tend the grounds, but I thought it best that we look after ourselves.”

Will nodded in agreement as they fished the plates of food out of the refrigerator. Everything had been laid out in neat, clinical rows and labeled with little cards in Austrian that reminded Will of evidence markers. Despite the unappetizing likeness, his stomach still growled audibly.

Hannibal frowned at the offerings as Will set the plates on the counter. “Will, pour us some wine, and I’ll serve.”

It was Will’s turn to frown but he did as he was asked, setting out two cut crystal goblets and filling them with the chilled white wine that had been provided. He wasn’t sure what kind it was. He couldn’t read the label, but it smelled very crisp and dry.

As Will took a seat at the counter, Hannibal began arranging the food. Strips of paper thin ham formed a garden of roses. Grapes were mounded together like a hoard of precious gems. Stone fruit was sliced and fanned. It was as hypnotizing to watch as it always was. To watch the calculated and clinical morph in the enticingly beautiful. That was the hinge of Hannibal’s character after all.

When he was satisfied, Hannibal passed the plate to Will. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist the temptation.”

Will smiled against the tide of memories of their old life together came crashing through his mind. The abrupt presence of the hauntingly familiar stunned him, and for a moment, he no longer felt like he was dreaming. “Is this what you wanted to do with me?” he heard himself ask, though his own voice sounded distant in his ears. “Turn me into art?”

Hannibal paused, wine glass halfway to his lips. Then he took a drink and sighed. “Yes, at first. I was curious in what way I could arrange you. Sculpt you. Influence you. Your empathy makes you endlessly malleable.”

“And now?” Will looked up at him with grave uncertainty. 

Hannibal speared a grape with a small fork and considered it. “I want to see the form you take under your own power. I think that will be far more beautiful than anything I could induce.”

Will smiled at him then, feeling the pangs of fear ease for a moment. On a whim he raised his glass. “I’m curious to see that as well.”

***


	5. Soft Flow the Stream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Here's the next installment!
> 
> This gets a big old warning for NSFW sexy-time content, as well as light BDSM things (hair pulling, kink negotiation ect). 
> 
> Many thanks to LawlessDragon for beta reading!
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments are much appreciated.

After dinner they both wandered upstairs. The old chalet sighed and creaked around them as they ascended the fanning staircase. It reminded Will of the sounds his house in Wolf Trap used to make when the heater would come on for the first time in the fall.

“Did you have a preference of bedroom?” Hannibal asked, his voice cutting expertly through Will’s nostalgia.

“I…” Will hesitated, almost feeling like it might be a trick question. “Do you?”

“I do admit that I have a soft spot for the master suite, since it has the tub and a glorious picture window. But if you’d prefer to take it, I’ll stay in one of the guest suites.”

“Wait, we aren’t…” Will’s feet stalled at the top of the stairs. Hannibal turned to him, a cool patience masking his ever-schooled features. Will, trying not to blush under his scrutiny, licked his lips and forced himself to finish the question. “We aren’t staying in the same room?”

“I didn’t want to presume.” Hannibal replied diplomatically.

“Do… Did you not want to share a room?” Will pressed.

“Quite the opposite.” The faintest smile pulled at the corner of Hannibal’s mouth making his dark eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Then can we?” Will asked, a little quicker than he meant to. “Share a room, I mean.”

“Of course.” Hannibal replied with what passed for a relieved smile, and he led the way to the master suite.

Will had already seen it once before when the driver had given them the tour, but not with the idea of sleeping here with Hannibal. He had barely given it a glance, save to note the aforementioned picture window that overlooked the courtyard. 

In keeping with the rest of the chateau, it was a stunningly appointed room with high ceilings and walls painted in a deep, saturated green. Everything about it felt at once both rich and heavy, and elegant and graceful. At first, the room gave the impression, at least to Will, of being overdone. Too much, with the tall crown moulding, dark wood four-poster bed, and dizzyingly detailed pictures in lacquer and gold leaf frames. But now, knowing that he would be sharing it with Hannibal, it suddenly felt cozy. Right. Comfortable… and safe. 

He couldn’t stop himself from spreading his hands over the surface of the embroidered satin bedspread that probably cost more than any car he’d ever owned. He was already imagining what it would be like to fall asleep snug in that space. He looked back over his shoulder to see Hannibal watching him as he took in his new surroundings.

“I went to the trouble to have some sleep wear and very basic clothing delivered, but we’ll have to go into town tomorrow for something that will pass for a wardrobe until I can make an appointment with a tailor.” Hannibal informed him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Would you like the shower first?”

“Sure,” Will had to shake himself from his reverie wherein he had briefly pictured himself dressed in one of Hannibal’s suits cut to his measurements. The image made his head feel a little swimmy. “I’ll um… I’ll be quick.”

When he emerged from the shower with a thick, fluffy towel hugging his waist, he found Hannibal carefully investigating his wounds in the mirror. Both of the bandages on the gunshot wound were off, and though there was marked improvement and very little blood, the injury still looked ragged and angry.

“Does it hurt?” Will asked, fighting to keep his voice from shaking.

Hannibal looked at him in the mirror, much as he had back in the cabin when he’d first woken up. A little guarded, but more than a little worried. “Not as much now.” he answered, carefully.

“Would you like to see mine now that they’re properly cleaned?”

“Of course.” Hannibal turned and stepped closer, placing his hands at Will’s waist, just above the towel. “These look much better.” he pronounced as he studied the knife wounds. “especially this.” He cupped Will’s cheek and looked at the wound on his jaw. The motion was far less clinical than it had been the first time as his thumb wandered to caress the curve of Will’s uninjured cheek. “I think the stitches can come out tomorrow.”

“Good, they itch like crazy.” Will said, feeling a little unsteady when Hannibal stepped away again. “Um… shower’s yours. I’m gonna go find my pajamas.”

Will fumbled his way out of the bathroom. Finding the pajamas was easy, but getting the shirt on by himself was not going to happen. His dislocated shoulder was still too sore and his ribs ached when he moved too far, so he slipped into the bed shirtless, and pulled the heavy covers up to his chin.

When he hit the switch on the bedside lamp, the room was flooded with darkness, reducing the prominent decor to half-seen glints and sparkles. He waited like that; on edge, wrapped in sheets that slipped over his skin with the barest whisper and surrounded by unfamiliar sounds and smells. The chateau itself was silent, in that way that old houses often are. The foundation had settled long before either he or Hannibal had been born. Through the cracked window, Will could hear the creek outside, and the sounds of strange nocturnal insects. And the soft ringing of the water through the pipes as Hannibal showered. It all came together in his senses like a sort of cocoon. He tried to relax but he found it impossible. To many questions and half formed thoughts about what was happening were swarming in his mind.

Then, Hannibal emerged from the bathroom already in pajamas of his own. He paused in the doorway haloed in the light behind him, before he extinguished it and crossed to the far side of the room to open the floor-to-ceiling windows. The cool night air sighed into the room, rustling the stiff curtains and fanning the drying curls at the nape of Will’s neck. He watched Hannibal pad about the room, following him only with his eyes as he arranged the bedspread and closed the doors.

And then Hannibal was crawling into bed, settling down facing Will with a peculiar open expression on his face. As he lay his cheek on his pillow, the dim moonlight from the window seemed to seep into every line of his face making him appear older… ancient even. Will curled on his side, gazing at him in the shadows for a long time, debating about what to do. Then Hannibal reached out and touched Will’s face, freezing even his breath in his lungs. He shut his eyes, trying to close out everything that he was feeling and wanting, and more importantly what Hannibal was feeling, but that only served to blur and amplify the impressions.

“Will.” Hannibal breathed his name, a reverent and frighteningly honest sound. Will’s eyes snapped open as if it had somehow been a command. “Tell me what you want.”

When he tried to draw breath, Will was frightened for a moment that if he tried to talk, he might just cry out of pure dumb desperation. But he reached out, curling his fingers around Hannibal’s bicep and hoping action would lead to the right words. “Touch me. Please…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Will had expected an amused quip or teasing remark, but Hannibal came as he was beckoned, without a shred of guile in his black eyes. He slid his strong hands over Will’s back and carefully curled him against his chest. Will shook and gasped, and hid his face in the hollow of Hannibal’s neck as his fingers splayed against the soft silk of his pajamas. He felt solid, and smelled wonderful… and the smooth skin of his neck was so tempting...

And Will realized in short order that he was hard. So hard that it hurt, and at first he tried to hide it, but Hannibal was insistent, pulling the line of Will’s body flush with his own. He let the shock show on his face when he discovered that Hannibal was as aroused as he was. 

“Hannibal I-”

“Shh…” he soothed, carding Will’s dark hair out of his earnest, straining face. “Easy. You’re safe here.” And then he leaned forward to kiss him.

Will quaked in his arms as his mouth parted under Hannibal’s. He kissed him slowly, but firmly, as if he could ease all the tension from Will’s body from the mouth down. And much to Will’s surprise it was working. He felt himself go a little slack as Hannibal sucked on his bottom lip without even the hint of teeth.

He wanted those teeth, Will realized darkly. Dolarhyde shouldn’t be the only one to have them.

“Better?” Hannibal asked as he pulled back, resting their foreheads together.

Will nodded, clarity and coherency coming back as the tension drained a little from his body. “You don’t have to do this.” he whispered.

“But may I?” Hannibal asked, a soft smile curling his swollen lips.

“God, please.” Will whined.

“And what may I?” he asked, his own desire only just hiding under the surface of a coy smirk. 

“Anything. I told you that. Just… please.” Will couldn’t repress the tiny cant of his hips where they pressed into the hollow of Hannibal’s hipbone.

“Let me do this for you, then.” Hannibal murmured, gently pressing Will onto his back. “Alright?”

Will blinked a few times before he summoned the willpower to nod.

Hannibal pulled open the drawstring of Will’s pajamas, and reached in to push his underwear out of the way. Will’s cock, flushed and aching, sprang free as Hannibal arranged himself to curl around Will’s body, as if he were trying to shelter him. He stroked him gently at first, with fingertips and the back of his knuckles, more like idly petting a cat than anything else. Will gave tiny gasps as Hannibal touched and caressed him. A thoroughly amused smile played across Hannibal’s face but under that there was something else… intent. Perceptiveness. 

Will bit his lip in the effort to keep still as Hannibal continued to play with him. It was never enough friction to get going. Just to make him twitch, and whimper, and clutch at Hannibal’s arm. “God… don’t tease.” he moaned.

Hannibal’s expression turned more earnest as he caressed Will’s face with his other hand. “I’m not teasing you.” he said softly, bending to gently kiss his lips. “Stop chasing what you want. Let me give it to you.”

Will couldn’t stop the raw, needy sound that escaped him. “You know… how difficult that is for me.” he ground out, partially through clenched teeth.

“I do.” Hannibal nodded. “That’s why I’m doing it this way. Let me give you this. I promise that you will enjoy it so much more if you don’t fight with yourself for it.” As he spoke, he switched from open handed caresses to a loose, gentle grip that made Will swear and moan even louder. “Easy. I have you.”

“Please don’t let go of me.” Will begged, staring openly up into his face.

Hannibal’s eyes, dark and glassy in the dim light, narrowed a fraction. “Are you afraid of that?”

“I feel… God, this is so difficult.”

“Shhh… are you afraid of me letting go?”

He nodded jerkily. “I’m afraid of… slipping away. Or… of fading… I just... please, Hannibal…”

Hannibal tightened his grip on Will’s cock, which was now a sticky, slippery, and over-sensitive mess and the more intense sensation was enough to pull a keening moan from Will’s throat. It was still not enough friction to get off, so Hannibal let him rut fruitlessly into his palm. But then, almost entirely on uncalculated, curious impulse, he slid his hand to the nape of Will’s neck and tightened his fingers into his hair. Not enough to hurt, or direct, but just enough to be pointedly more than a caress.

Will’s response was gratifyingly instantaneous. He went completely still, gazing up into Hannibal’s face with wide, dilated eyes before going totally slack in his hands.

“Ah… There you are.” Hannibal crooned softly, scratching his nails at the base of Will’s skull. “There you are. I’m not going to let go. You could fly into a million pieces and I wouldn’t let a single one get away. I have you.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Will’s temple, never ceasing the slow, infuriating caress of Will’s throbbing cock.

But Will suddenly didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care that it didn’t seem like Hannibal would ever let him get off. He had him. Hannibal had him anchored in place. He wasn’t going to fade away or fall apart because Hannibal wouldn’t let that happen. The world had gone still and quiet and wonderfully clear, for perhaps the first time in his life. And what’s more, he felt himself smile with unadulterated joy. Though some distant part of him felt it inappropriate, even that far off voice was silenced by that smile mirrored in Hannibal’s face.

It all was wonderfully easy after that moment. Will relented and Hannibal took care of him. The strokes gradually came faster and harder until they caught a perfect rhythm together and Will came with an ecstatic moan of Hannibal’s name. 

And as the waves of pleasure slowly rippled out through his body, and Will caught his breath, Hannibal released his grip on his hair.

“No, please…”Will moaned, a sudden panic seizing him. He scrabbled for purchase on Hannibal’s arms but was too weak and shaky from adrenaline to be able to get a grip.

Hannibal cupped his face and silenced him with a kiss. “I still have you, Will.” he murmured against his lips. “You’re in my bed, between my sheets. I have you, I promise. Let me get something to clean you up, and I will hold you for the rest of the night if that is what you wish.”

Will nodded then, blinking owlishly as he collapsed back onto the pillows. Hannibal disappeared to the bathroom and then reappeared a moment later with a washcloth in tow. He tenderly wiped down Will’s chest and stomach, and then pitched the cloth to the floor. All this allowed Will to get a good view of the fact that Hannibal was still rock hard inside his sleep pants.

As he climbed into bed again, Will clumsily reached for him, but Hannibal, guessing his intent, was too quick. He caught his wrist and pressed a warm kiss against his still fluttering pulse. “Another time, Will. Don’t worry about it for now.”

“But-”

“When this has healed.” he cut him off as he trailed a finger just under the stitches at his jaw. Will’s eyes widened a fraction with understanding. Hannibal smiled at him, a soft but wicked curl of his mouth as he traced the same finger over the soft bow of Will’s swollen lips. “You asked before if I had fantasized about you? I have. And for what I want, I need this to be healed.”

Will licked his lips and nodded. If he could have gotten hard again so soon, he was certain he would have just from his galloping imagination. As it was, he allowed himself to be bundled into Hannibal’s arms and he drifted off to sleep to the sound of the lazy, rambling of the stream, and the unfamiliar chatter of insects. 

***

Hannibal awoke a little after first light, and watched Will sleep late into the morning. Only the slow march of the golden sunbeams across the gilded walls of the bedroom marked the passage of time. It was not the first time he’d seen Will defenseless and sleeping, but he always loved the way the perpetual frown melted from his brow. He looked much younger. Sweet and blissful in his rest. Like a martyr in repose. But Hannibal had never seen him like that awake. Not until last night when he’d grabbed him by the hair.

He had not expected such a marked reaction. Or if there was going to be one, he was certainly not expecting it to be positive. He had thought Will would have panicked, or become angry. Maybe even violent. But not...

Joy. That is what it had been. Perfect, incandescent joy. Just from the simple act of being held in place with a token gesture. He could have pulled free with nothing more than a toss of his head, but instead he’d given in to it. Easy as anything...

Hannibal smiled then, pleased that this time his curiosity had borne him a truly wondrous bounty of possibilities. He twined one of Will’s dark curls around his finger as he pushed it out of his face. “I could never truly predict you. Or what you needed.” he whispered to no one but the attendant sunlight. “All the time I was trying to move you, when I only should have held you still.”

Will stirred then, the well-worn frown returning to his face like a shadow even in the bright light of late morning. The sight of it clawed at Hannibal’s very heart. Would that he could remove it always, never to darken his countenance again. He comforted himself that at least now he had an idea of how to achieve that goal.

Will blinked twice to clear his vision, and in his sleepy abandon he dared reach out and touch Hannibal’s face. 

Hannibal kissed his palm as one would kiss a holy relic. “Good morning, Will.” he whispered.

“How long have you been awake?” Will asked, his voice crackling around the words. He thought at first that he might be dreaming. That it all might be a dream… but the previous evening was coming back to him, and he nearly wanted to die of shame.

Hannibal made a noncommittal noise and smiled as he slid his hand around Will’s waist to tug him closer. “Would you like some coffee?”

Will shut his mouth with an audible click. The noise in his head was back, and louder than ever. It had been so quiet before. But all Hannibal had asked was a simple question, and a simple answer hung out in the air in front of him. And for once it seemed best to just take things one step at a time. “Yes, please.” he responded. 

Hannibal smiled broader as he slid out of bed. “Then I’ll make some. And we can see to getting those stitches out.”

Will’s hand flew to his jaw, remembering the promise of Hannibal’s fantasy regarding its healing. The anxiety must have shown on his face because Hannibal returned to sit on the bed, one leg curled gracefully under him. He took Will’s hand from his face and kissed the fresh pink scar that crawled across his knuckle. “It will be awhile yet. Even after the stitches are out.”

Will only swallowed hard in response.

Hannibal frowned in concern, his head tilting slightly. “Do you not want to? I assure you it’s alright if that’s the case. We can-”

“No, it is definitely not that.” Will answered quickly with a firm shake of his head.

Hannibal pressed his lips together as he threaded his fingers alongside Will’s. He was quiet for a moment, weighing his own words with measured care. “Would you feel more secure if you had a safe word?”

Will laughed grimly. “Seems a bit over done. And… I’m not sure that I would be able to make myself use it.”

He lifted a shoulder and gave a pouting shrug. “It is not a thing that is always meant to be used. Most safety measures aren’t. Sometimes they are there for the feeling of security. You shouldn’t need it but…”

“Would you honor it?”

Hannibal was actually taken aback at that. “Do you truly believe that I wouldn’t?” He asked, his face frighteningly earnest. “Truly, I fear you not using it when you need to.”

Will gave a single acquiescing nod and was silent.

Hannibal gave him a moment, and then rose from the bed. “Let’s start with some coffee.” he leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on Will’s lips. “One thing at a time.” he said with a warm smile that made Will’s chest ache. 

Will watched him go for a moment, hands fidgeting on the bed cover. He wanted to follow. Not lay in bed like an invalid. He was tired of being still, and static. He wanted to move. 

“Winston.” Will said suddenly, the word falling like a stone into a still pond. Hannibal paused in the doorway and looked back quizzically. “My safe word is Winston.”

“Why choose that mutt out of all your pack?” Hannibal asked, a laugh coloring his voice.

“He… he was a good dog. Smart. Was always the first to spot trouble. And… I found him around the same time I met you.” Will answered, twirling a loose thread on the embroidery between his fingers, watching it spin as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Hannibal only nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly, and disappeared to the kitchen.

***


	6. Happy for the Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Just a few things before we get started.
> 
> No major warnings on this chapter. 
> 
> Many thanks to LawlessDragon for beta reading!
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far. I really appreciate all the love and feedback I'm getting! Keep it coming! Kudos and comments give me life!
> 
> Enjoy!

The rain in the northeast still had not let up when Alana and Margot returned to the Verger mansion a few days later. Little Preston was thrilled by the prospect of a thousand puddles to stomp in between their car and the front door, and Margot seemed to exhale a long-held breath in relief when the stables came in sight. But for all her effort, Alana found it impossible not to let the oppressive drizzle enhance her already sour mood. At least, she kept telling herself it was the weather. As they settled into their home again, Alana could feel the dread of what was to come saturating her bones. It was like reliving the days of chasing Hannibal through Florence all over again, and she found she just didn’t have the strength. Or the spite...

“I’m glad we’re back home so soon.” Margot said cheerily. She busied herself unpacking their things as Alana brooded by the window in their bedroom, sorting through what needed to be cleaned and what could go back into the closets. During the whole return trip, she had been stalwartly attempting to lighten her wife’s mood but without much success. “It will be nice to have our routine back again. And I was worried I would have to reschedule the soiree for the Sculptor’s Guild.”

“That’s what you were worried about?” Alana asked, rather more pointedly than she meant to.

“No.” Margot answered crossing her arms, her own voice holding a subtle but no less keen edge. “But Hannibal making good on his promise is not what you’re worried about either. Not really. If you were, we would still be in hiding, no matter if he was in the States, in Europe, in jail, or on the dark side of Neptune.”

Alana was silent, sullenly hugging her thick robe around herself as she stared fixedly out the window into the gathering dark. Preston chose that time to come scampering merrily into their room for his good night kiss. Margot scooped him up into her arms, bundling him against her chest as she sat back on the bed. Alana turned to them and smiled against the ache in her chest. She couldn’t look for long. They were so sweet, the two of them. Her wife and her son. Far too sweet to be gained the way she had gained them. She turned and gazed back out over the dreary, ink-dark landscape. It was a much better reflection of her mind than her family smiling in the warm light behind her.

“He’s not coming for us. Somehow I think he couldn’t care less. So what is it really, Alana?” Margot asked, gently as she sat down with Preston puddled into her lap.

“Hannibal has to be brought to justice.” Alana said with false simplicity. “And Jack wants me to help find him.”

Margot nodded, smoothing her hand over Preston’s feathery soft hair. She could already feel him sagging sleepily against her shoulder. “I know I’ll sleep better at night if I know he’s behind bars.” she replied carefully.

“So will I.” Alana agreed, still not looking at them. “So will a lot of people, I imagine.”

“You think so?” Margot asked. The question drew Alana’s gaze in a guilty flicker. She smiled then, a little like a cat with the canary’s feather in its teeth. “You’re not interested in bringing Hannibal to justice. You’re trying to save Will. Again.”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me, Margot?” Alana replied playfully.

Margot snorted. “No. Just stating the very obvious pattern you’ve set for yourself. Made more obvious by the fact that you just dodged and tried to make a joke. Here’s a warning, if you haven’t worked it out by now. I’m not going to spend my life with you without picking up a few of your tricks.”

Alana’s smile faded and she returned her gaze to the window, watching the clouds crawl over the treetops.

“You don’t have to be ashamed, Alana,” Margot said, her voice having lost all its barbs. “God knows, you’ve indulged me in far more complicated and demanding ventures into my past.” she hugged Preston a little closer to her. He was completely asleep now, and barely stirred. “You’d do anything to keep Will Graham from harm. I’ve seen it.”

“Not anything.” Alana replied half-heartedly.

“Well, near enough. You actually let Hannibal go because he was the only one that could save Will from my brother.” Margot pointed out. “At that moment, you valued Will’s life more than justice and your own safety. And I think you still do.”

The diagnosis hung in the air, and Alana could only nod. “Do you think he can be saved?” she asked her. “This time?”

Margot pressed her lips together in thought as she regarded her wife. Answers swirled, but not the rights ones. She didn’t have the right one. At least not for certain. So she gave the most honest answer she could, and hoped it didn’t sound as much like dodging to Alana as it did to her own ears. “I really can’t say. I’m not sure what Hannibal has done to him before, or what he’s doing to him now. You know better than I do in terms of what he is capable of. Both of them, really.”

Alana sighed heavily. “Will resisted him before.” She didn’t sound the least bit convinced of what she was saying. “He fought his influence, even when he wasn’t sure what it was he was fighting against.”

“Why do you think he fought him? He fought him when no one else did if I understand what happened correctly.”

“Will was afraid of him. He feared what he had already done to him. What he might do to others. To me specifically.”

“Do you think he still does?” 

Alana shook her head slowly. “No. Not anymore.” She was quiet for a moment, winding the belt of her robe around and around her hand. “I don’t really know why, but I’m certain of that. He hasn’t been afraid of Hannibal Lecter for a long time. At least not for his own sake. He certainly wasn’t afraid of him when we agreed to fake the escape. He knew he had the upper hand and exactly how to manipulate Hannibal. I’ve… I’ve never seen Will like that before. He was so dead certain of… something.”

“So are you still going to try to save him?”

Alana sighed heavily as she thought for a while. “I have to try.” She said finally, dropping her gaze to the carpet. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, even more softly than before. Almost to herself. “Hannibal is dangerous to everyone. He… changes you. Will tried to warn all of us, but we were already in the Devil’s snare. It cost Beverly Katz her life. But I learned, and I will never misjudge what Hannibal is capable of again.”

“You still care about him, don’t you? Will?” Margot asked with a ghost of a smile. “Just like you always did. You’ve never stopped worrying about who was influencing Will Graham.”

Alana nodded, guilt sagging across her features. “I knew he would draw curious people. And curious people don’t always have the best intentions. I include myself in that statement. And... I care too much about Will to leave him there. I just… want to protect him.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry.” She added, her voice thick with gathering tears.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Alana. I don’t want you to be. I just want you to be careful.” Margot replied with a pitying smile. “You were careful once for a different reason… hiding behind your “professional curiosity,” but now…” she trailed off with a frown. “What if you find he does not want to be saved?”

Alana was truly silent at that. She hugged her arms around herself and hunched against a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Margot felt like she was watching her wife age before her eyes, and for a moment she was sorry that she didn’t inspire that sort of entropy. She truly didn’t know if she could arouse the fly-around-the-world, stare-into-the-abyss kind of devotion Alana clearly felt for Will. And for a brief moment, she was sorry.

Then, Preston shifted in her arms and stuck his little thumb in his mouth, pulling her from her reverie. She hugged him close, smelling the sweet lavender soap his governess used to bathe him, and the shadow passed. She was glad that while certain aspects of ardent love were forever beyond her as far as Alana was concerned, she would never be Alana’s undoing the way Hannibal was inevitably going to be Will’s. She only hoped that Will would not be Alana’s.

Margot rose slowly so as not to wake Preston and crossed to where Alana hunched by the window. “Go if you need to.” Margot whispered, reaching out and running her fingers up her wife’s arm.

“Will needs me.” Alana said, not looking at her, but leaning into the touch. “Or needs someone at least. I can’t just leave him there.”

“I think we just established that he might not agree.” Margot warned, gently. “You need to be prepared for that. Or worse.”

“I left him to his own devices once. And it ended with him being gutted by Hannibal and nearly bleeding out on his kitchen floor. I just… I can’t do that again. I can’t lose him to Hannibal again.” She said, her voice cracking with raw emotion. “Will can’t make decisions regarding Hannibal. He stokes his neurosis and instability and bends it to his own ends. We can’t say what Will truly needs until he’s away from him. Isn’t that the definition of being driven insane?”

“It could also arguably be the definition of being in love.” Margot replied sagely.

Alana snorted, but didn’t look at her.

“Look.” Margot turned her away from the window. “Justify it as you need to with the rest of the world. Hannibal needs to be brought to justice, or Will needs to be rescued. Just… just don’t lie to yourself. And don’t be surprised when your help isn’t wanted. And… and I’ll be here. I’ll see to security measures in case of an emergency. Hire more guards, maybe. But I’ll be here.”

Alana gazed down at her for a long moment and then nodded, hugging her arms around herself. Margot slipped an arm around her, nestling the warm weight of Preston between them. She rested her cheek on Alana’s fleece covered shoulder and whispered. “Just be careful, okay? With both of you. Will doesn’t deserve to hurt any more.”

“Neither do you”

“So just be careful.” Margot repeated looking up at her wife.

Alana couldn’t resist leaning down and stealing a kiss. The ache in her heart hadn’t let up, but somehow the burden of what was ahead of her felt a little lighter for having Margot’s blessing.

***

Alana made her way through the Forensic Psychology Department at Quantico to Jack Crawford’s office as if she were arriving at a hanging. Her own hanging, she knew. But hopefully, only to watch. At least she had the dignity of being able to walk without a cane that day.

“Dr. Bloom!” Jack called jovially. “You’re back!”

“I am.” she said with a tight smile that made Jack’s own wither from his lips. “I’m here to help you catch Hannibal again.”

His brow arched. “Truth be told, I didn’t think you’d be interested. Especially after you pointed out you have a wife and child to worry after.”

“Margot is looking after arrangements for extensive private security. She may also go to one of her family’s more secluded residences while I’m here.” Alana told him primly.

“Kind of her to do that.” Jack said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “I figured she’d put up a fight. She’s fiery.”

Alana truly smiled then. “She is, but… she’s also shrewd. She… she knows how I feel about Will and Hannibal being together. And she knows that I ultimately won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try to save Will from him.”

“And what if it turns out we’re not going to save him. What if we’re going to arrest him?”

The corner of Alana’s mouth pulled in a humorless smile. “You know, Margot asked me something very similar. Have there been more bodies?”

“Not yet. But I worry it’s only a matter of time.”

“Then I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.”

Jack eyed her hard. “I need your head in this Alana.” His voice was even, but he made no effort to hide the barbs of his true meaning. “Your head and nothing else.”

“It is.” she assured him. “I can’t help my reasons, but those reasons will give you the help you need.”

Jack took a long breath and then nodded. “Alright. Let’s get started. I want to go over everything we know starting with Dolarhyde’s death and work forward to their last known location. We’ll need to get Zeller and Price in on this. And then we have a lot of phone calls to make. I have a feeling that you’re right about the two of them not being in this country.”

***


	7. Fire and the Windows Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again all! I come bearing the next installment of my little adventure to Austria.
> 
> This chapter is very much NSFW, but there's no serious gore aside from some recollections from season 2. 
> 
> Many thanks to LawlessDragon for the beta. He just wrapped up season 3 recently and is already itching for a rewatch. The whale noises he's going to make when he sees baby Will for the first time are going to be life-giving.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. Kudos, comments, and feedback are always appreciated!

Will never felt like he had truly woken up after tumbling them both over the cliff. It was as if he’d gone to sleep on the way down and dreamed it all before he met the crush of the sea. He drifted at first, ghost-like and withdrawn, through the new world that was their home in Austria. But rather than the dolor common to the setting of most ghost stories, this one was full of light and life. 

Spring began to inch its way farther into the woods as each day passed, beckoning Will outdoors with its siren song. On the first day, he barely left the house, observing the outside world from a distance as if it were a wary animal. Or maybe the wary animal was him. Wounded and frightened, still favoring aches both of mind and body. 

But it didn’t take long for him to venture out into the surrounds, scenting the air and feeling the sun on his still-healing face. He had promised himself at first, he would just go out on the terrace, but his discipline quickly dissipated with the first gust of wind, fragrant from the morning rain. And it wasn’t long before he was catching himself in old habits like searching the ground for fishing fly materials or contemplating the favorability of a fishing spot on the creek that bordered the chalet. Each day after, the late afternoon found him there, slinging a fishing rod he’d found in one of the out-buildings over the tumbling water in search of bright, silvery fish that swam in the wake of the rocks.

And each night, as the growing choir of nocturnal insects began their droning chant, Hannibal generously took Will apart using nothing but his words and his hands. He spoke to him and touched him, pulling on the knots and rusted hinges of Will’s mind with persistence and patience. Letting go became easier each time, and the liberated sensation began to be something he started to keep with him throughout the day. An easy, languorous fluidity. Not unlike the dreamlike state of their travel, but more crystalline and clear. He had agency in it. He could tell Hannibal things. Could ask for what he wanted. Or just be, if he so chose. Floating on the sea of the sheets with his only mooring being Hannibal’s hand fisted softly into his hair.

But Hannibal had not yet allowed him reciprocate. Nor had he pushed past the boundary of what he’d given him that first night. For the first few days, it bothered Will tremendously. Scenarios presented themselves in his mind… he could try to seduce Hannibal. Or perhaps kneel down and beg for the honor. But he decided it best not to press his luck. Hannibal had told him what he wanted, and to Will, it seemed that he was content to wait for his jaw to heal and for him to be ready. Patient as he’d always been.

***

 

A little over a week after their arrival, Will was out fishing in the stream as usual. The air had steadily become warmer each day, but the water in the stream was snow melt from the nearby hills and thus was still numbingly cold. But along with the old fishing rod in his hands, Will had found some insulated waders that were in quite good condition and so he had splashed out between two rock spurs, allowing himself to be lulled by the soft murmur of the water. 

He felt himself slipping into his own version of the memory palace, though he frequently laughed to himself that it could be called that. The stream he was currently standing in merged with the one near his old house in Wolf Trap. And with another up in Michigan. And yet another, much smaller creek near Molly’s house in Maine. And a swamp out in the wilds of Louisiana. All tributaries and estuaries and lakes constantly feeding back into one another. 

Abigail was there. She was the only one that visited him there anymore. Sometimes she looked like she had when Will had first laid eyes on her. Rosy cheeks and bright eyes. And sometimes she was the shrinking husk that walked the halls of the mental hospital, wearing a paradoxically vibrant patterned scarf. And sometimes… more often than not, she appeared as he had last seen her; bloody and slashed, with an expression of pained knowing twisted onto her youthful features. Will could still see his handprints on her neck where he had tried to stop her from bleeding out before he lost consciousness himself. 

But she was never malicious. Just… omnipresent. There were times Will would fantasize about teaching her to fish. Other times she would just stand on the bank, blithe and becoming, and watch him. And sometimes, now that the weather was warming, she would go swimming in the stream, scaring the fish and washing the blood off her beaming face and down the stream.

She had forgiven him. At least in his memory palace. Forgiven him his ignorance and vanity and indecision that had cost her life. She asked about Austria. Said she wished she was there with them. Will wasn’t sure he agreed yet. If this was some sort of afterlife, he wasn’t sure that it was the one either of them were owed. Punishment, reward, or otherwise.

As he daydreamed, Will hadn’t noticed the shadows beginning their lengthy eastern march, or the beams of the drooping sun beginning to twist through the still bare trees. He was only pulled out of his reverie by the sound of approaching footsteps rising over the gurgling of the water. He looked up midcast to see Hannibal walking towards him carrying a blanket under one arm and a large basket in the other. A smile blossomed on Will’s face as he took in his clothes. Soft gray pants and a thin, pale green sweater with a neckline that opened wide enough to reveal the sharp architecture of his collarbones. He still hadn’t gotten used to seeing Hannibal dressed so casually, but they had an appointment with a tailor sometime in the coming weeks, so he imagined it wasn’t going to last.

“I thought I’d bring you some dinner.” Hannibal called to him as he spread the blanket with a flourish. 

“Shall I get out?” Will asked with mock formality.

“No, no. I’ll get everything laid out. Take your time.”

Will cast his line another time or two before sloshing up the bank to where Hannibal had set out their picnic dinner. 

“No luck?” Hannibal asked as Will awkwardly shed his waders with no small amount of undignified hopping.

“No. But it’s not surprising. I haven’t taken the time to make any good lures yet. I’m just using some that I found with the rod. They’re really old and faded, but it’s better than nothing. At least for practice.”

“Does it feel good to fish again?”

“It does. I always found it helped clear my head.” WIll dropped to his knees on the faded blanket and Hannibal passed him a plate covered with fruit and bites of cheese and an assortment of some sort of charcuterie. 

“Your head still needs much clearing?” Hannibal asked, handing him a chilled glass of white wine.

Will swallowed. “Sometimes. Not… not so much now, but it’s nice to know it would still work if I needed it to.”

“Your memory palace.”

“Least palace-like place on earth.” he said, humor coloring his voice.

“I think that’s hardly true.” Hannibal replied with a soft shrug. “The best architecture depicts nature. Like all art, it reflects our world back to us.”

Will nodded, not looking up from the grape he was rolling between his fingers. “The familiar is good, I think.”

“Then I think so too.” Hannibal gave him a warm smile and clinked their glasses together.

The shadows of evening stretched and softened as the sun slipped away from sight. The two of them ate and watched in companionable silence as the first stars came winking into view. When he had finished his plate, Hannibal lay back, propped up on his elbows and gazing up at the darkening sky. Will drank in the sight of him so at ease. Collar of his sweater gaping generously to bare the smooth lines of his collar bones and the soft arch of his neck. Hair disheveled from its normally careful grooming and falling in his black eyes. And the easy smile playing across his wide mouth, giving the barest tease of teeth. Will was normally never one to give up a chance to star gaze, but there were no stars in any sky as wonderful as this sight.

Will put down his wine and curled himself against Hannibal’s side, being careful of his still healing gunshot wound. He pressed his nose against the soft fabric of his sweater and just breathed for a moment, savoring all the new smells of the Austrian evening overlaying the wonderfully familiar smell of Hannibal. He looked up as Hannibal wound his arms around his shoulders, and pressed his mouth against Hannibal’s, feeling him smile into the kiss, before moving down to mouth across his collarbones.

He hesitated once he realized what he was doing, afraid that he was overstepping. But it was too late to stop now. Not to mention too much of a temptation. And the fact that Hannibal wasn’t pulling away or calming him was a plus. He’d not really ever had the opportunity to explore Hannibal’s body the way that Hannibal had been able to explore his. 

A soft lick and then a nip at his ear drew an exquisite sound from Hannibal that sent Will’s body rolling against his. Without a second thought, Will threw his leg over his hips catching Hannibal’s wrists in his hands a second later. Hannibal gazed up at him, his black eyes wide in wonder, with the thinnest thread of anxiety running through them. 

“Will.” he whispered, his name fluttering through the cooling air like a flower petal. 

Will released his hands, feeling confident he wouldn’t resist, and moved to cup his face in his palms. He traced his thumbs across Hannibal’s cheekbones as he leaned in to claim his lips with his own. Will licked into his mouth, skirting his teeth and applying his own, feeling the answering nibble on his bottom lip. Will could feel him growing harder and harder and he gave a tiny suggestive circle with his hips.

Hannibal groaned and let his head fall back. “You will be the death of me.”

Will gave a wicked little laugh that purred along Hannibal’s throat as he mouthed down the line of his jaw. “I certainly hope not.”

Hannibal lifted Will’s chin and they locked eyes in the dimming twilight. Fireflies had come to life around them, mirroring the stars above as they moved over the grass. Will felt his breath leave him for a moment as he stared, still cradling Hannibal’s cheek in one hand. The frozen moment gave way to restlessness, and Will gave in to the urge he’d been feeling since they arrived, but had not acted on since the first night.

He reached down to cup Hannibal’s erection which was visibly straining in his gray pants. Hannibal went to catch him and Will dropped his head to rest on his shoulder. 

“Please.” he whispered, his lips hovering just under his ear. “I want to give you what you give me.”

Hannibal lifted his chin so he could see his eyes. “I told you what I want.”

“I know, and I want to give you that.” he answered. “If… if you think that I can.”

He knew Hannibal could read between the lines. This wasn’t a question of whether or not his jaw had healed sufficiently. He stroked his cheek tenderly, knowing the newly knitted scar would be at once numb and overly sensitive. “It will require you to be relaxed and easy as you are in the bedroom with me.”

Will just nodded.

“Do you know what it is that I want? Truly?” he asked with a faint twist of his head.

“I… I can guess.” he almost whispered, giving a ducking nod. “If you need me to relax… and for my jaw to be healed… then I can guess.”

Hannibal tugged his chin back up to look him in the eye. “And you’re alright with that?”

“I… yes.” he replied quickly. “I want it. God, I want it... But…” he trailed off as his tongue darted nervously between his lips. Suddenly, words were overwhelmingly difficult.

“What is it?” Hannibal asked with an unbearable tenderness in his voice.

“Will you… hold my hair like you do when… when you touch me?” Will asked, his voice frighteningly small in his own ears.

Hannibal smiled then, teeth glinting softly in the gathering dark. “Of course I will, if you wish.”

Will nodded and then frowned. “Do you? Want to, I mean. Do you want it like that?”

His smile widened as he leaned in to steal a kiss from Will’s upturned mouth. “That is never a hardship, Will.” he murmured against his open lips.

Will dropped his head to Hannibal’s shoulder again and took a deep breath that shuddered in his ribs. He slid his fingers along the fly of Hannibal’s pants, tracing the outline of his thickening erection before fumbling for the button. Hannibal dropped back onto his elbows again and watched as Will worked with single-minded focus on freeing his cock from the confines of his clothes. 

When Hannibal’s cock rested bare against his palm, Will seemed frozen for a moment, as if transfixed. Like a deer caught in a bright light. But before Hannibal could get too worried, he shimmied down the blanket, arranging himself carefully along his side and leaned forward. At first he just brushed his shaft with his nose and lips, scenting him and feeling his skin, which felt hot enough to brand his lips in the cold night air. 

Then Will took a deep breath and licked a long wet stripe up the full length of Hannibal’s cock. Much to his surprise, Hannibal’s reaction was strong. He gave a choked moan and shuddered as Will went to repeat the motion. Will grinned through the next lick, and Hannibal must have felt it.

“Do I amuse you?” He asked, a smile coloring his husky voice.

Will looked up at him, his cheeks showing a flush even in the gathering dark. “I hadn’t expected you to be… quite so uncollected.” he admitted before giving him another long lick from root to tip.

It was Hannibal’s turn to smile as he let his head fall back again. “I will not deny that I have wanted this for a very long while, and so my composure is somewhat more fragile.”

“How long?” Will asked, surprising himself with his own playfulness as he laid a few wet kisses along the underside of Hannibal’s cock.

“Since you came to my office after Tobias Budge tried to kill me.” He answered, the final word cutting off into a groan as Will delicately licked a drop of precome from the tip of his cock. “Something about the way you smiled at me. You were so… earnest. So open. And I wanted… oh, I wanted you. Even though I didn’t realize it fully then.”

Will was silent for a moment before he kissed the head of Hannibal’s leaking cock with what almost seemed like reverence. “You do it… It’ll be better if you do it.”

“You’re doing just fine.”

“No, I meant… I meant it’ll be better for me. Easier.”

“Ah.” Hannibal breathed understanding bringing a smile to his lips. “Are you certain?”

Will could only bring himself to nod as he fought the urge to curl in on himself.

Hannibal drew him back across his body so he straddled his parted legs, putting his face level with Hannibal’s flushed cock, now shiny and wet from his tongue. Will licked his lips nervously and looked up at Hannibal.

“If you need me to let go or let you take a break, just tap my leg. Otherwise you’re going to suck my cock until I come down your throat.” Hannibal stated with a detached simplicity that made him sound like he was discussing china patterns. His desire betrayed him however, as his accent grew thicker with each word.

Again, Will only nodded, his face feeling like it was on fire. He was trying desperately to ignore the desire pooling low in his stomach, making his own cock tent the front of his jeans.

“Good.” Hannibal affirmed as he reached around and threaded his hand into Will’s curls, twining them around his fingers but not gripping him just yet. “I do want to push you though. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Will whispered, the word hissing out over Hannibal’s shaft, making him give a little moan and tighten his hand in Will’s hair. The wonderful, relaxed sensation came washing over Will. It came easier every time. He was less inclined to fight it, and more willing to sink into it as it flooded through his limbs. Less like action to reaction and more like a call and response.

Distantly in the halls of his mind, Will could hear the cantor in the chapel in Palermo. The trees vaulted into shadowy buttresses. Fireflies morphed into flickering candles. He could see a version of himself lighting one with a long taper. To what… and to memorialize or to honor… he wasn’t sure.

“Open your mouth.” Hannibal’s voice came to him through the stillness of his thoughts, and he did, letting his lips part with easy and almost wanton obedience. He could feel Hannibal tracing his bottom lip with his thumb before he took his cock in hand and slid it past Will’s teeth. “Relax.” he instructed gently. “Place your hands on my sides. I’m going to go slow, but you’re going to swallow down my full length.” When he spoke his voice was as commanding and calm as ever, but there was just the slightest rough edge to his tone. It was the only indication Will had that he was enjoying this.

Will tried to move, but Hannibal held him fast. “I’ll thrust as I want to.” he told him. “Just relax. Just be… for me.” 

And Will did. He could sense and feel, but acting and even thinking seemed quite beyond him. Hannibal’s cock was heavy and thick in his mouth, and he was so hard Will swore he could feel his pulse against his molars. He tasted bitter, salty precome and felt the smooth head of Hannibal’s cock sliding along the back of his throat. He convulsed around it at first, but Hannibal’s hand in his hair kept his attention diverted. It was all a little surreal and more than a little wonderful. He was vaguely aware that he was hard as well, but that seemed very distant in comparison to the sensation of Hannibal’s cock between his teeth.

Above him, Hannibal collapsed back onto the blanket, pillowing his head on his folded arm. He steadied his breathing and stared up at the stars as he set a careful and predictable rhythm for Will, using his hair for leverage. One long slow swallow followed by two short thrusts. He followed it beautifully, and it wasn’t long before the glory of the unoccluded night sky lost out to the sublime sight of Will Graham hungrily and willingly sucking his cock.

“You are an exquisite thing, Will Graham.” He said, unsure at first if he had even said it out loud. But Will looked up at him, the stormy gray in his eyes blown completely black. Hannibal thrust himself deep, holding Will down around his cock and watched as his eyes drifted closed again.

His face looked much as it did when he was sleeping. Younger, and paradoxically more innocent. His gray eyes were hooded and his dark lashes brushed against his cheeks. And those lips, reddened by kissing were so unbelievably warm and soft. And the scar from the Dragon’s knife… shiny against the shadowed stubble of his face. It would fade in time, but it would never truly be gone.

The thought of Will stretched out and bleeding under Hannibal’s hand came unbidden to mind. At once arousing, and much to Hannibal’s surprise, shameful. As he cradled Will’s head and thrust into his sweet, pliant mouth, he felt singularly awful that he would enact punishment meant for the swine of society on such a willing and beautiful creature as he. Who was already abasing himself for Hannibal’s pleasure. And would surely abase himself further… he would let him do anything...

Will chose that moment to moan greedily around Hannibal’s cock, and that sent him tumbling unexpectedly towards the edge. His rhythm faltered, and Will sensed what was happening, fingers digging into his thighs and throat convulsing. Hannibal’s hand tightened painfully in his hair as he came down Will’s throat with a strangled sound from between his teeth. Will held on, swallowing for all he was worth, and it goaded Hannibal’s climax further, making it stretch on and on...

As his softening cock slipped from Will’s swollen lips, Hannibal released his grip on his hair. The same plaintive sound Will always made when Hannibal let go spilled from his throat. Hannibal pulled him up to lie facing him before he rearranged his clothing. 

Will smiled when he saw Hannibal’s ruddy cheeks and lazy, pleasured smile. “Was I good?” he asked, utterly without guile.

“Perfect. As you are in all things.”

“Never done that before.” he said with a small laugh. “Guess I don’t need any more practice.”

“If that was only practice, then I look forward to opening night.” he replied with a little wink that made Will’s laugh blossom. “I suppose that you want repayment in kind?” he asked sliding his knee between Will’s legs.

“I thought that was repayment to you?” Will replied coyly, though he was unable to stop himself from grinding against Hannibal’s thigh.

“Oh, this will hardly be the repayment you’re thinking of.” Hannibal said darkly, watching a flicker of fear travel through Will’s eyes. “Do you want to come?”

Will nodded shakily, now suddenly and painfully aware of how hard his own cock was, still trapped in his pants.

“Then you must do as I did.” he answered. “Use me to get yourself off. Ah-” He caught Will’s wrist as he went for his fly. “Just like this.”

Heat licked up Will’s face as little abortive thrusts rippled through his hips. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. And you will. You want to.” Hannibal replied simply, as he pulled Will into his arms so his beautifully blushing face rested in the hollow of his throat. “Go on.”

Will whined softly as he clung to Hannibal. At first he couldn’t bring himself to move, but Hannibal shifted, his thigh rubbing along the length of Will’s aching cock. That sent him into a stuttering rhythm that had him gasping and moaning in no time.

“Please… Hannibal…” he ground out, hands fisting in the soft cashmere of the sweater.

Hannibal smiled at him then, seeing him so desperate and wanting. He kissed him gently, tasting himself on Will’s tongue, before he fisted his hand in his hair again. Will broke off the kiss with bared teeth. He jerked twice against Hannibal’s grip and spent himself inside his jeans.

He couldn’t even bring himself to open his eyes for a long time. He just sagged in Hannibal’s arms, letting his face pillow against Hannibal’s throat and enjoying the feel of his fingers twining through his hair. 

“I must look a mess.” Will muttered finally. “And smell even worse.”

Hannibal tipped his chin up and kissed him gently, smiling against his mouth. “You do.” he answered. And he did, with his face flushed with his dark curls wildly disheveled. “I can think of no more beautiful sight.”

“You have about a billion over you.” Will mused, falling back against the blanket and staring up at the canopy of stars. The twinkling host couldn’t keep his attention for long because Hannibal smiled and it was like watching the sun rise.

“I should tear them all from the sky for thinking they could shine their light on you.” he replied, draping one arm over Will’s waist and pulling him close.

Will gave an amused snort. “Jealous are we?” 

“Very much so, yes.”

Will grinned a little at that. “Good… good I’m glad you’re jealous.”

“Why is that?”

“It makes me feel… less vulnerable. You’re… you’re the only one that’s going to take me apart like that.” He furthered his point by drawing himself tight against Hannibal’s chest, pressing his face into the bend of his neck.

“I fear my jealousy may not be in your best interest if you’re still bent upon being my sacrificial lamb.”

“My interest is better than the one who gets caught staring.” Will pointed out.

Hannibal swallowed visibly. “I’m still trying to convince myself of that.”

Will frowned for a moment and then leaned up to kiss him gently. “I’m okay with this, Hannibal. This arrangement? I really am.”

“It will hurt.” he said, his voice roughened with emotion. “I will hurt you.”

“You’ve hurt me before. With far less restraint. I’ll be okay.” he insisted.

“I do not want to ruin you.” Hannibal breathed against his skin. “I almost did, once.”

It was Will’s turn to wrap his arms around Hannibal. “Well, I do not want to lose you. If I must be ruined… so be it.”

“You truly are not afraid of what I will do to you?”

“No.” Will suddenly became very interested in the texture of Hannibal’s sweater. “You’ve already done what frightens me the most. And now, I’m more afraid of being alone again. I… I don’t know how I existed like that.”

“You did just that. You existed.” Hannibal replied simply. “When I first met you, your world was a carefully curated and controlled place. Some of your habits were constructive ones, like having dogs or going fishing to collect your thoughts. Others though… avoiding people. Perhaps even your chosen profession, despite its ability to let you see yourself more clearly. They weren’t going to help you move forward. They just kept you at the point of existing.”

Will nodded and then shook his head sharply. “I don’t want to go back to that.”

“You won’t have to.” Hannibal replied firmly, his arms tightening around Will almost painfully for a moment. “I promise. I want to show you so much…”

“The opera?”

“And more besides.” he answered, looking back towards the chalet. “Vienna is a shining place.”

Will followed his gaze and smiled when he saw all the windows twinkling in the distance, like a star drawn impossibly near. “You left all the lights on.”

Hannibal nodded, no longer looking at the chalet but instead lovingly tucking an errant curl behind Will’s ear. “Does it remind you of your house back at Wolf Trap? Your boat safely moored on the water?”

Will stared at the glowing windows peeking through the sparse trees. His smile softened and he leaned his head against Hannibal’s shoulder. “No… No, it just looks like home.”


	8. Bring the Bees and Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, all! 
> 
> No warnings on this chapter. Just some good old fashioned suit porn to liven up a cold, dreary afternoon. (The weather here has been miserable for the past few days so I've enjoyed writing about springtime in Austria and pretty boys in suits.)
> 
> As always, many thanks and much love to LawlessDragon for his beta reading. He's about to begin his first rewatch of Hannibal, bless him.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading. All the kudos and comments give me so much life. Hope you enjoy this installment!

Another two weeks, slipped by with the languor of a cat sunning itself in a window. Spring continued its slow invasion of the countryside. The grass grew green and tall, and flowers popped open dotting the fields with vivid splashes of color. The breeze, which had carried a chill from the mountains when they’d first arrived, grew warm and lazy as it was weighed down with the fragrance of the blooming meadows. 

Barring a single trip into town to stock their cupboards, Hannibal and Will passed their time in the seclusion of the chalet. Sometimes together, with Hannibal teaching Will the finer points of the culinary arts or exploring the woods on long, companionable walks. And sometimes apart. Will almost daily spent the afternoon hours fishing, and Hannibal passed the days drawing, and reading, and making slow, steady work of organizing and cataloging the chalet’s library. 

It was easy… comfortable. A sort of circadian rhythm unique unto them. The two men moved about each other like heavenly bodies… with constant rotation and movement, and inevitable pull on one another. Will kept waiting to grow bored, or worse yet for Hannibal to grow bored of him. But the worst that would happen is that Will would forget what day it was.

One morning, while Hannibal had stepped out into the garden take stock of his newly planted herb collection, there was a knock at the door. Will’s heart froze against his ribs for a brief, horrified instant, and a thousand fearful thoughts flooded his head. He imagined Interpol, or the FBI, or just a very sour-faced Jack Crawford waiting on the other side of the door.

He edged up into the foyer, skirting a notoriously squeaky floorboard, and peeked through the faceted glass only to find a tiny, immaculately dressed old woman clutching a worn suitcase waiting on the front step. Will opened the door and before he could say hello or ask her name, the woman breezed inside. She looked positively ancient, with her parchment-thin skin sinking around her sharp bones, and her iron gray hair bound in a severe bun, but given her apparent age, she was quite spry. She rattled something off quickly in French leaving Will to only blink at her. He gave her a second look-over and this time saw the tape measure hanging around her bird-like neck and suddenly he understood.

“Bonjour.” he said with an awkward laugh. “I… Please, come in. Hannibal is out in the garden.” He said, taking her suitcase and cupping her bony elbow to show her to a wingback chair in their receiving room. “I’m going to go get him. I’ll be back.” Then he scurried out to the garden.

“Hannibal!” he called from the top of the terrace steps. Hannibal stood from where he’d bent to inspect a row of shiny-leafed basil plants. “I’m pretty sure, the tailor is here.”

“Ah, excellent. She’s early!” He responded brightly, as he quickly bounded up the terrace steps and hurried them both back into the house.

Upon seeing Hannibal, the tailor’s severe demeanor softened. 

“Madame Laurent!” Hannibal crowed when he saw her. “Bonjour!” They embraced and kissed each other’s cheeks before she began fussing at the clothes Hannibal was wearing. Will couldn’t understand her words, but he could easily guess her meaning. Hannibal just laughed, whispering something that made her grin slyly before he turned her to Will. “Il s’appelle Will. Will, this is Eulalie Laurent. She’s been kind enough to come in all the way from Paris to see us fitted with a formal wardrobe suitable for our needs.”

Will smiled through the embarrassment and put out his hand. Her grip was firm against his and she smiled genuinely, showing even ivory teeth. “Merci, Madame Laurent.” he replied awkwardly, as now he had pretty much exhausted his vocabulary in the language. “I’ll… go make some more coffee.” 

He slipped from the room as the two of them sank down onto the sofa. When he returned with tray in hand, they’d taken over the coffee table with countless swatches of fabric and a thick portfolio of sketches. No sooner had he set the tray on the side board then Hannibal pulled him close to Eulalie’s chair and began gesturing to his waist and shoulders, speaking in easy, fluid French. Will found himself drawn and calmed by it, in much the same way as he had felt at ease during their travels. As long as Hannibal’s hands were on him, he felt moored.

Eulalie eyed him over her gold rimmed spectacles, making Will fidget a little, before flipping a few pages in her portfolio and showing them both a sketch of a faceless model in a gray suit with a low stance. Hannibal, looking over Will’s shoulder, nodded and hummed. “What do you think?” He asked Will.

“Me? I don’t know. It’s nice?” Will responded uneasily. “I… I don’t really know anything about suits. Do you like it?”

“I think so.” Hannibal replied around the finger he had pressed to his lips. 

“Why?”

“Well,” Hannibal moved around beside him and gestured to the drawing with a slim finger. “The long lapels and low stance will make you look taller. And this cut certainly will look more dramatic, especially if your shirt and tie are more daring.”

“Will they be?”

“If I have anything to say about it.” he replied with a roguish smirk that pulled an answering grin to Will’s lips.

Eulalie held up a bony finger and then flipped two more pages to a different suit, this one drawn in pale blue. The stance was even lower, just a single button under a smooth, thin lapel. Will almost felt the frown flicker across Hannibal’s face.

“Why don’t you like that one? It’s not that much different.”

He hummed for a moment. “The lines are too soft for you. You’ll benefit from sharper angles that will define your dimensions. A suit like that needs a taller, more angular frame.”

“Did you just call me petite?” Will asked, a laugh coloring his voice.

“I may have implied it. But my point still stands.” He shook his head towards Eulalie and muttered something in French. She wrinkled her sharp nose, but nodded in agreement.

Will chuckled and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “How can you know what a suit will look like on me just from a drawing?”

“One learns that certain cuts and features draw the eye in a certain way, and honestly, that’s all fashion really is. Part optical illusion and part personality. For instance, double breasted suits can sometimes be boxy on someone your height, especially with a high stance. Someone with narrow shoulders should also have narrow lapels, because wide lapels will overwhelm. And like any rule of art, all things are subject to taste.”

Will nodded, a frown of consideration pinching his brow. “Can I try to find something?” he asked as he put out his hands to Eulalie to indicate he wanted the book.

“Of course.” Hannibal gestured to her. Will took the book from Eulalie who did nothing to hide her good natured skepticism.

He flipped through her drawings as Hannibal peered over his shoulder. Some of the suits were things that he wouldn’t wear in a million years. Wide gaudy collars and ostentatious cuts. And he was secretly glad that Hannibal had none to subtly warned him against double breasted suits. He was sure that it mostly had to do with the fact that he’d never owned a well-fitting suit in this life, but he had always thought they looked atrocious on anyone. Except maybe Hannibal. 

He settled on a page showing a suit drawn in brown. Double vents and a notched collar, with two buttons. A slightly higher stance to accommodate the extra button, but Will had always preferred two-button jackets. He showed it to Hannibal and looked up at him silently.

Hannibal’s lips pouted as they often did when he thought. Will unconsciously licked his own lips as he watched him consider the page. He’d taken to kissing him whenever he did that, and now was not the time.

“What do you like about it?” Hannibal asked Will’s own question back to him, his voice betraying nothing of his own thoughts.

Will frowned. “I like the lapels… those long smooth lapels on the other one? I’ve never liked them on me. But these are thin like those but… you said I needed more angles.”

“Those thin smooth lapels are are called shawl lapels.” Hannibal replied. “And yes, they wouldn’t become you. What else?”

“You mentioned something about optical illusions? The double vents. I like them because… wouldn’t they give the image of a narrower waist?”

Hannibal smiled pridefully and nodded. “And wider hips. I employ that illusion myself.”

“And two buttons has always been my preference. I don’t know about the brown though.”

“No, we’ll do this one in gray, I think.” He pointed to the drawing and said something to Eulalie who nodded and started taking furious notes.

“Well, that didn’t take long.” He said as he headed for the side table with the coffee.

“Oh, we aren’t done.” Hannibal replied, passing the book back to Eulalie. “That’s one of at least four I want to get started for you. Plus a tuxedo of course.”

Will whipped back around. “At least four?” he parrotted with complete disbelief on his face.

“At least.” Hannibal confirmed with his trademark implacable smile that Will knew always got him what he wanted.

“That’s going to cost-”

Hannibal raised his hand to silence his protesting. “Not of concern for me. And it won’t be of concern for you either when you see how magnificent Madame Laurent will make you look.” Though she couldn’t understand the words, the tailor still smiled proudly when she heard her name, so she must’ve had some inkling as to the exchange taking place.

“I just…” Will laughed at his own bashfulness a little as he made Hannibal a cup of coffee. It had only taken him one morning to learn how he took it. “I’m not going to look like an adjunct professor anymore am I?”

“Not if I can help it.” Hannibal replied with a smile of his own. “But you’ll still look like yourself. I promise.”

He nodded in response before turning back to the tray of coffee. “Um… Madame?” Will asked awkwardly, and the bird-faced Eulalie turned towards him. “How do you take your coffee?” he held up the empty coffee cup for clarification.

“Avec sucre seulement.” she replied crisply.

“Sugar only.” Hannibal translated, and Will nodded and returned to the business of making coffee. He could hear Hannibal and Eulalie chattering away in French behind him. He was fairly certain their entire conversation hadn’t been exclusively about clothes.

“Did you want to help me choose the next one?” Hannibal asked, when Will turned back to them.

“I really don’t know much about this business with suits.” He said as he passed them their cups. “I’m especially out of my depth if you want me to find more than one. I’ve only ever owned one suit at a time in my life… the kind suitable for both weddings and funerals.”

Hannibal gave an amused snort and wrinkled his lip in good-natured disgust. “Well, why don’t you help me pick fabrics then?” He offered. “That’s usually a less speculative exercise.”

Eulalie had picked up on what was being suggested. She closed her portfolio and began fanning out the swatches of fabric on the coffee table. Will reached over and turned on an additional lamp before settling down on the floor to examine the choices.

He hadn’t realized fabric could come in so many distinct shades of blue and gray and brown. Nor that there was more than a couple of shades of black in existence, but Eulalie apparently had all of them in every texture and pattern Will could imagine. Actually he knew that fabric came in innumerable varieties from his work at the FBI, but he just never could imagine actually caring about the differences.

Hannibal gave a considering twitch of his chin before mentioning something to Eulalie. A quarter of the swatches disappeared into the suitcase with a sweep of her bony hand. Will looked up confused. “Winter weight fabric selections.” Hannibal clarified. “We’ll want summer wool for now. We’ll get more suits for winter.”

Will took a sip of his coffee to hide the choked noise he felt like making at the thought of Hannibal spending more money on his wardrobe. But he felt… oddly at ease about the idea of wearing clothes that Hannibal picked out for him. “Just no plaid in either case.” he teased, earning him a sour sideways look from Hannibal.

As they passed the fabric samples back and forth, Will found that they both favored the idea of gray for the bulk of Will’s wardrobe. 

“No blue?” he asked, looking up at Hannibal.

“We’ll do one in a muted navy, but I rather like the idea of blue in your shirts or ties rather than in the whole suit itself. Your eyes stand out enough on their own. Best not to overdo it.”

Will felt his face grow hot, and Eulalie couldn’t stifle a giggle as she nodded in agreement when Hannibal translated for her. 

With fabrics selected and coffee finished, Will collected the cups and took them to the kitchen. Upon his return to the sitting room, Eulalie descended upon him with tape measure in hand. Will had no idea that there were so many measurements to take. He was fairly sure Zeller and Price didn’t do this many measurements when they were doing an autopsy.

That thought crossing his mind stunned him, momentarily filling his mind with static. He hadn’t thought of his old coworkers at the FBI in… forever it seemed. Logically, he knew they’d been parted less than a month but somehow this far away it seemed so much longer. It made a part of him ache a little, but not with any sort of want to go back. It all just seemed so… faded. Like a dream upon waking. Present in the mind and yet already falling away into scraps of recollection.

Hannibal must have seen the shadow cross his face. “If you trust me to select the cut of your suits, I can see to it while you go fishing.” He offered, giving a concerned and curious twist of his head.

“I actually think I might just make some flies instead.” Will responded, shaking himself a little. “I’ll have more luck actually catching something. Wait… what about the tux?”

“Does your trust in me extend to your formal wear?”

“It’s all going to feel like formal wear… so yes, I suppose I do.”

“Good. Nothing too ostentatious, I promise.” Hannibal leaned over and kissed him on the temple. “Clear your head, darling. I’ll come find you when Eulalie and I are done.”

Will smiled a little and leaned into Hannibal’s touch, the shaded recollections already melting away. He saw himself out with a ducking nod to Eulalie.

***


	9. Over Hill and Heather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies to anyone who has been waiting on this chapter. I spent the last week and a half at the hospital with a dear friend who had surgery for severe appendicitis. He's home, and on the mend, which means that I now have regular internet access and a normal sleep schedule again. And that means I should be more or less back to my usual posting schedule. Thank you so much for your patience.
> 
> This chapter is very NSFW, just so you've been warned.
> 
> Many thanks to LawlessDragon for beta reading. 
> 
> And thank you as always for reading, and for your comments and kudos. It always makes my day when my inbox lights up.
> 
> It's good to be back. :)

Will didn’t return to the chalet until well after dark. Lure-making had turned into polishing re-stringing the rod. Then of course, he needed to test the line and his new lures to make sure all was in working order. Before heading out to the stream, Will crept into the kitchen to make a sandwich. He could hear Eulalie and Hannibal still in the receiving room, conversing in almost effervescent French. So with a very late lunch in hand, he hurried back out again, lest he be captured, re-measured, and asked about increasingly indistinguishable shades of navy blue.

Despite his best efforts to quiet his mind, Will’s thoughts buzzed in his head like a swarm of angry bees. The warm remembrance of how it had been to work with Price and Zeller, with their dry, gallows humor and sharp minds, clung to him and brought back a tidal wave of memories and longing that Will had thought lost in the far distant crush of the Atlantic. He could see their faces. Hear their laughter. And soon a thousand other recollections were pouring down upon him. The smell of his dogs when it rained. Molly’s laugh. The twinkle in Beverly Katz’s eye when she had found something everyone else missed. The way Alana would press her lips together when she was concerned. And Abigail’s blue-eyed, beatific smile...

There it was, he realized, watching the twilight settle into the trees around him. 

Threaded through it all was the very worst of Hannibal’s nature. That thought struck him as though it were a new revelation, but Will knew it wasn’t. He’d known the truth about Hannibal, perhaps even in the earliest days of their acquaintance before he’d been able to dig up the words to describe it. And out here, alone in the gathering dark, he almost felt frightened as he had when he was in BSHCI, facing it all for the first time. When all shreds of doubt had scattered from the truth he’d shied from for so long. But even when his fear was greatest, at his core he had wanted Hannibal. He’d wanted to join him… maybe even join with him somehow. Only guilt and revulsion at himself stayed his hand. And only when he thought he had no choice had he opted to end him. Only to save Alana... 

Did Alana ever think of him now? What about Price or Zeller? Even Jack… what did they think now? Perhaps they thought him dead. Killed by the Dragon or by Hannibal? That wouldn’t be so bad.

He trudged up out of the stream and headed towards the chalet. He noticed that all the lights were on again, as if Hannibal were calling him home from some place far more distant than a wade in the stream. And as usual, he wasn’t entirely incorrect.

Will stowed his rod, waders, and flies in the out building, and headed inside. He found Hannibal upstairs and already in bed, propped against the headboard with a well worn leather book splayed out over his bare chest. His eyes were closed, though his intent to be awake when Will came in was evident in his posture.

Will felt himself arrested by the sight. With the sharp angles of his face softened in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, Hannibal hardly looked the part of the vicious manipulative killer Will was fretting about only minutes ago. Hannibal would always be his mirror, Will knew. But these days he was reflecting the better part of both their natures. He appeared collected and relaxed, with no guile or deception in his face. Just an easy repose that hovered on the edge of wakefulness. 

Will quickly stripped out of his clothes, until only his boxers and undershirt remained. He intended to go shower before bed, but he couldn’t resist leaning over Hannibal’s sleeping face and kissing his forehead gently. He felt him stir under his lips and Will almost murmured an apology, but instead he let Hannibal’s arms encircle him as he captured his lips with his own. 

Hannibal sleepily tugged him into bed, pulling him easily astride his hips only breaking the kiss once his hands had settled at Will’s waist. “Did you have any luck?” He asked, and it was clear by his tone that he wasn’t interested in a fishing story.

Will leaned forward onto his elbows, brushing an errant strand of Hannibal’s hair from his forehead. “Some.” he replied enigmatically.

“I was afraid the whole tailoring experience might be a bit overwhelming. You must forgive me. It is the sort of thing I can’t resist taking to excess.”

Will laughed. “No, it wasn’t that, actually. Madame Laurent seems very sweet.”

“She does, though she’s a notorious gossip. Her bad side is a thing to be wary of. I’ve witnessed the death of many a social life in her salon back in Paris.” It was Hannibal’s turn to tuck a wild curl behind Will’s ear. He followed the motion, pressing his face to Hannibal’s palm. “What was it then, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Will’s eyes opened a fraction, staring out at nothing as he summoned an answer. “Just… I thought about Price and Zeller back at Quantico. How they used to take measurements of bodies. And…” He paused and shook his head. “That wasn’t that long ago, was it? When we were all working together. You… me… Price and Zeller, and Alana and Jack...”

“Not relatively speaking, no.” Hannibal answered diplomatically as he waited to see where Will was going.

“And… Beverly.” the name fell from his lips and rippled out through the room.

Hannibal remained stone-faced, barely humming an assent.

“But it feels like forever. Like maybe we’ve been here forever, and all that stuff with the FBI and me and Alana, and…” he paused, not looking at Hannibal.

“Go on.” he prompted gently.

Will summoned the courage to at least look at Hannibal in the eye. “You killing Abigail. And Beverly. And all those people.”

“Us killing the Dragon together.” Hannibal supplied.

Will nodded. “But… It all feels so far away.”

Hannibal gave a small sound of consideration. “Perhaps in some ways it is. We paved the way here with little changes, even though we didn’t know yet where we would be leading ourselves. And being here together, even just this little while, has changed us.”

“Or at least me.” Will replied, dropping his gaze and falling back on his habit of fidgeting with the embroidery on the bedspread. “I worry you’re just coiled in wait.”

“I don’t think that is an untrue statement. And it worries me as well.”

“It does?”

“The blacker part of my nature worries you, and so it worries me also. You are not incorrect in your concern that my expressions of rage and disappointment in the world could bring our old friends back to our doorstep. But I am more concerned that you seem hell bent upon bearing the brunt of it...” He trailed off.

“But will you let me?”

“I can’t say for sure until the moment comes.” Hannibal answered, as he closed his book and set it on the bedside table. “But can you be content with the fact that I will try? Forcing you to bear punishment for someone who I don’t deem worthy to wipe your shoes… it is unseemly to me in so many ways.”

“You won’t have to force me.”

“That does not make me like it any better.” Hannibal said darkly, shaking his head a little.

“What will you do?” Will asked, still not looking up. “How… How will you do it?”

“I haven’t given it much thought.” Hannibal replied evasively.

“Liar.” Will said with a smirk, though he’d earned himself a sharp look with the accusation. “You’ve thought about it enough for it to bother you.” 

Hannibal regarded him hard for a second and then, quick as lightning, he rolled them both making Will gasp when he was pinned down on the bed. “It does bother me.” His voice was paradoxically calm and even as he dug his fingers into Will’s wrists. “I actually considered killing you on more than one occasion. How close I came bothers me a great deal. It should bother you, too.”

Will shrugged as much as his compromised position allowed. “Despite the thousands he kills each day, supposedly killing Christ bothered God.” 

Hannibal snorted softly, fiddling idly with a lock of Will’s hair as he held him down with his forearms. “Supposedly.” he echoed softly.

“Hannibal, look at me.” And he did after a moment’s hesitation, his black gaze pained and drawn. Will lifted his head from the pillow and kissed him ever so gently. “Let me make something clear and maybe this will make it easier. I’m not trying to save them. Whoever they end up being. I’m only interested in saving you and me. I… I don’t want to go back to “existing.” We don’t have to stay here in our cocoon, and we don’t have to be isolated. I just… whatever happens, I don’t want to be without you. Whatever you have to do to me so that I don’t lose you...”

“You don’t know-” the words came out strangled.

“And I don’t care.” Will cut him off. “Tell me if you think you can frighten me.”

Hannibal took a deep, rib-shaking breath, his eyes narrowing a fraction like a big cat watching a gazelle from the long grass. “I want to cut you.” he said, the words coming out in a deep rumble as he dragged his fingers down the plane of Will’s chest. “See your precious blood weep out of you in a thousand places. Then sew you up and keep you in bed for days. I want to touch your bones and feel your pulse and… see you frightened as they should be of me. I want fear to repay wrongdoing.”

Will’s heart had jumped to a gallop as his cock stirred embarrassingly in his boxers, but he did nothing to hide his reaction. That prospect was frightening… being laid bare and open in Hannibal’s design. But it was also comforting in a very strange way. Not unlike when Hannibal gripped him by the hair. A muffled, possessed, and all encompassing quiet, like being underwater.

“I am afraid.” Will told him, letting him see the truth of it in his eyes. “But less afraid than I am of losing you.”

Hannibal kissed him again, beginning soft and gentle and ending in a fury of bared teeth that bruised Will’s mouth. He ground up against the hollow of Will’s hip, making him gasp at how hard he was. 

“I will hurt you, Will.” he told him, his voice rough and breathless. “I will need to see the fear in your eyes. The fear that I’ve spent the last weeks smoothing away from your face.” 

“Then you’ll be able to take it away again.” Will responded. “And just like… letting go. It will get easier with practice. You wanted to be able to make me… to show me? I want you to have that kind of control.”

Hannibal dropped his face close to Will’s neck taking his pulse between his teeth so he could feel the rasp of his incisors along the delicate skin. Will couldn’t stop the unconscious roll of his body under Hannibal, and he answered it by nearly tearing Will’s clothes off his body. He couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up and it surprised them both after their weighty conversation prior. But Will smiled, leaning up with his shirt half off to kiss Hannibal sweetly, and he felt him relax over him. 

He dropped his head down to rest against Will’s cheek and murmured. “Let me ask for something, then.” 

“Hmm?” Will hummed through the kiss he placed against Hannibal’s hairline.

Hannibal pulled back and helped Will the rest of the way out of his shirt before caressing his cheek gently with his knuckles. His dark eyes were fathomless and warm as he gazed down at Will. “Let me have you like this then. Just like this. So just… just once that it’s not ruined by my nature.”

“Would it be?”

“For me… I think…” Hannibal’s voice was all but a whisper. “That is what I’m afraid of, after all.”

Will drew him down for another kiss, pulling their bodies flush together as he wound his arms and legs around him. “Ruin me.” he whispered roughly in Hannibal’s ear. “I have a safeword, and I promise I will use it both now and in the future. Ruin me.”

In answer, Hannibal made quick work of removing the rest of their clothes, but once they were naked his every touch turned indescribably gentle. “Are you sure?”

Will could only nod, not trusting himself to speak anymore.

Hannibal kissed him again before reaching over to the bedside table and pulling out a small glass jar. “Not tonight.” He whispered. Will held his breath as he watched Hannibal slick up three of his fingers. He knew his eyes had gone a little wide.

“You’ve never done this. Ever?” Hannibal clarified. “Not even to yourself.”

Will snorted and shook his head. “No… I have enough trouble concentrating when I’m just trying to get myself off.”

“Would you like me to help you concentrate?” he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up just barely.

“Please.” The word came out a little more strangled than Will would have liked.

Hannibal slipped his hand into the curls at the nape of Will’s neck and wound them around his fingers. He tightened his grip, fitting Will’s face against the hollow of his throat.

“Wait,” Will gasped as he gripped Hannibal’s shoulders. “What about your…” His eyes dropped to Hannibal’s side where the bullet had torn through him. It was still covered both front and back with a thin layer of gauze.

“It’s healing well. Don’t worry yourself.” Hannibal assured him, his voice barely more than a rumble. “I wasn’t aspiring to anything terribly athletic. It is your first time after all. I had planned to be gentle.”

A wanting grin flickered across Will’s face as he craned back into Hannibal’s grip to look up into his eyes. “What if I don’t want you to be gentle?”

Hannibal’s sumptuous mouth curled into a little smile that sent heat spiraling into Will’s groin. He twisted Will’s curls tighter around his fingers as he leaned down and whispered, “Then I will be even gentler.”

That promise, along with the first slide of Hannibal’s fingers across his hole, pulled a shameful sound from Will’s throat. And it sent him arching off the bed in an exquisite bow as he sought to rein in his reaction.

“I have you.’ Hannibal soothed. “Easy, Will. Easy. Be as loud as you want. I want to hear how you’re reacting so I don’t have to guess.”

“I’m scared.” He said prying his eyes open to allow Hannibal to see the truth of it.

“Of what?”

“That… it will hurt?”

Hannibal smiled then and shook his head. “You’re willing to let me take a scalpel to your skin, and you’re worried about pain from this?”

“I’ve been stabbed before. I know what that feels like.” Will answered between gasps as Hannibal’s fingers continued to circle against the ring of muscle with a gradually increasing pressure. “This… is new. I’m… I’m afraid it will be too much. Too much for me to think about.”

“You don’t know how I will make it feel.” He said darkly. Will wasn’t sure if he was talking about sex or the scalpel. He wasn’t sure that he cared about the difference. “It won’t hurt. I promise.” Hannibal told him. Where someone else might have kissed him or stroked his cheek to reassure him, he only tightened his hand in his hair. Will hissed through his teeth, but still found a paradoxical comfort in the tight, sharp ache at the nape of his neck. “Relax. I will be rough with you some other night if you wish, but not tonight. Give me this… please?”

It was the “Please” that was Will’s undoing. He felt himself go boneless in Hannibal’s hands. He hooked one of Will’s legs over his shoulder, further spreading him open as he dipped a single fingertip inside. Will let a soft, needy sound escape him, and watched what hearing it did to Hannibal. He closed his eyes in ecstasy as he leaned down and kissed Will’s parted lips.

Bit by bit, Hannibal teased him open, and true to his word, Will never felt a single twinge of pain. Instead, by the time he added a second finger, Will was reduced to impassioned babbling as he clutched at Hannibal’s broad shoulders.

“Will…” Hannibal breathed. There was his name again, whispered like an aching prayer, before Hannibal crooked his middle finger to press against Will’s prostate. White light bloomed in his vision as he bucked off the bed, his cock a throbbing, leaking mess against his stomach. 

“Ah, Jesus, Hannibal please…” the ecstatic cry morphed into a plea as his nails bit into the taut muscles of Hannibal’s back.

“Tell me what you need, Will.” Hannibal replied, his calm voice frayed at the edges.

“I… I want you inside me.”

“It will hurt if I do it now.”

“I don’t care, I want… I want you.”

“Just a moment…”

“No, please… let me make you come apart.” Will licked his lips as he shifted tactics with the last shred of cunning left at his disposal. “I’ll be tight. Won’t… won’t that feel good?”

Hannibal stilled over him with a curious smile creeping over his face, though his fingers in Will’s ass never stopped their infuriating rhythm. “You’ve never deliberately tried to seduce me, Will. Not ever. Not outright.”

“What can I say?” Will panted, his pupils blown to pure black. “I’m desperate. Is it working?”

“It is.” Hannibal answered, as he gently slid a third finger past the spasming ring of muscle. “But why do you want that?”

At first, Will only gave a formless moan as Hannibal curled all three fingers across the bulge of his prostate, making him bow off the bed and causing his cock to leak profusely all over his stomach. “Because… because…” he paused to collect his breath and his thoughts. “Because you’re always so collected. And I want you to not be. Just… for a second so that I can... see.”

Hannibal paused for a moment, gazing down at Will as he twisted on the sheets. He looked so soft and inviting, even as he writhed and shivered in Hannibal’s grip. With his pupils blown wide, and his face flushed, and his cock arching up in a pretty curve towards his navel. He looked deliciously debauched.

“Please.” Will wanted to say, but the ecstasy of being teased apart between Hannibal’s hands was too much. His mouth only managed the shape of the word.

So Hannibal withdrew his fingers, and reached for the jar of lube again, liberally coating his cock which he had been staunchly ignoring up until now. As he lined himself up against Will’s entrance, pulling his knee tighter to his shoulder he whispered roughly, “I’m going to go slow. Let me do it.”

Will nodded jerkily as the blunt head of Hannibal’s cock bumped against his gaping hole. “Just… don’t let go.” He breathed as his eyes slid closed and he collapsed back into Hannibal’s grip. 

Hannibal scratched his blunt nails against the nape of Will’s neck in answer, winding the strands between his fingers. Still not enough to really hurt, but enough to be present. “I won’t. Relax, and open your eyes.”

Will shook his head. “I can’t...”

“You stared me in the face while I gutted you in my kitchen.” Hannibal replied evenly. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

He shook his head more furtively, cinching his eyes shut as if he were underwater.

“Will.” there was his name again. A command this time. Will realized his eyes were open almost before it registered. And then Hannibal was sliding into him.

A thousand reactions flickered through Will’s eyes. Expectation of pain. Comfort at the omnipresent anchor of Hannibal’s fingers knitted into his hair. Shock at the deliciously filthy slide of Hannibal’s cock inside his ass. And finally relief. Will jerked and tried to thrust at first, but Hannibal held his hip down on the mattress.

“You wanted me to fuck you, Will.” He whispered, his voice infuriatingly even, despite the slow press of his cock into Will’s shivering body. “Now be still and let me.”

Will whined loudly, the pitiful sound ringing in his own ears, but he managed to keep his thrusting in check. “Please…” he managed to shake the word loose from his throat this time.

“What is it, Will?” Hannibal asked tenderly.

“I… can I touch-? Will you… talk to me? I... “ His body tried to curl in on itself but Hannibal held him in place, like a bug pinned into a collection.

“What is it Will?” he asked again, his tone the same despite the rosy color rising in his cheeks.

“God, it’s… it’s so much. The sensation… I…” his words disappeared into a frantic gulp of air.

“Does it hurt?”

Will shook his head. “It’s just… intimate and I can’t… I can’t do anything.” Will felt like he might shake apart at any moment. “Please just… tell me something. Let me… I don’t know…”

“You don’t like being helpless.” Hannibal observed, with a falsely detached tone.

Will shook his head again, fighting the urge to cinch his eyes shut again.

Hannibal shifted over Will, pulling his leg in tighter over his shoulder and sinking even deeper into his ass, enjoying the ecstatic cry he gave as he arched off the bed. “Do you know how you look to me?” Hannibal asked, his words still coming smoothly as sweat sheened his face from the effort of keeping himself suspended over Will.

Will just continued to shake his head back and forth, pulling purposefully at Hannibal’s grip on his hair. It wasn’t an attempt to get free. Just a reminder that his anchor was there.

Hannibal dragged himself out almost entirely before beginning another scalding press back into Will’s shivering body. He gave a cry that began as Hannibal’s name, but turned into a desperate, formless plea for more. “You look like a portrait of a saint from the sixteenth century. Your expression at once serene and pained. I’ve said it before, but you’re quite exquisite. It’s as if you were made to be overwhelmed like this.” Hannibal told him, his hips giving a filthy little twist as he bottomed out again.

Will’s only answer was a helpless whine through clenched teeth as he tried to pull Hannibal closer. But Hannibal was stronger, and guessed his intent. He gripped Will’s hip and his hair and held him fast to the bed.

“If you knew how this felt you would understand why I am being gentle.” he told him, his accent saturating his words more than Will had ever heard before.

“How… how do I feel?” Will ground out.

“Perfect.” Hannibal whispered, as he gave another long, slow thrust and bowed low over Will’s gasping frame. Will gave an answering moan of ecstasy. “Perfect as you are in everything. Perfect in your striving. Perfect in your submission.” The word “submission” pulled a primal sound from Will’s throat, though he was unaware that he’d even made it. “Perfect in the way your body clutches mine. I could lose myself in you so easily.” He lifted a trembling hand to caress Will’s flushed cheek. “I fear that I already have.”

With that confession burning in the air around them, Hannibal dropped his head to Will’s shoulder and began thrusting in earnest. His movements were still slow, but his thrusts became longer and deeper. Fluid, rolling motions that sent every muscle rippling in the dark, and had the head of his cock brushing precisely past Will’s prostate. Will’s whimpers turned to moans, and moans grew pleading words. When it seemed that Will had exhausted his list of desperate promises and pleas, Hannibal loosely fisted his hand around Will’s cock. He thrust up into it automatically and came with a hoarse shout of Hannibal’s name as ribbons of white painted his chest.

As he wound down from the climax, he frowned up at Hannibal who had been fucking him through the whole whirlwind. “You didn’t…?” he asked breathlessly.

“Not yet.” Hannibal answered with a curl of a smile. “I wanted you a little less desperate. You said you wanted to see what you do to me… so now I’m going to show you, without the veil of any other concern between us.” Will collapsed back onto the pillows as Hannibal readjusted his grip on his hair and kissed him. Just a brush of lips that sent Will chasing after more. “Tell me how this feels Will. To be molded from within.”

Will moaned and fought the urge to close his eyes. Whether it was to hide from what he was feeling, or hide it from Hannibal he couldn’t say. “You feel amazing… even… even now while I’m not trying to come. I… God, your cock just…” He knew he could never find words to match Hannibal’s eloquence, so he arched up and sucked a hard bruise into the delicate skin over Hannibal’s pulse. “Fuck me, Hannibal.” he hissed against his throat.

Hannibal’s smile grew teeth in response, his hips giving an extra long roll.

“This is what I always wanted.” Will whispered, as he wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist. “Not… not just the sex but… you reshaping me. Molding me. I wanted to give in, but I was afraid. Did… did you ever fantasize about this?”

Hannibal nodded stiffly as the pace of his thrusts continued to escalate. “Oh yes, Will.” He answered, his voice beginning to fray at the edges of his words. He buried his face against Will’s jaw, teeth nipping at the edges of the shiny pink scar. “It was always a point of sadness for me.”

“Why?” Will asked, reaching up to cup his face, stilling it over him.

Hannibal hesitated, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. “Because I never thought you would ever let me have you like this.”

Will saw the truth of it in his face, and in the unexpected tears that gathered in his coal black eyes. He reached up at caught them before they could fall, pulling Hannibal down for a kiss that seemed to melt the two of them together. He felt Hannibal’s muscles tightening under his hands, and he pulled back just in time to watch Hannibal come undone.

He was utterly silent when he came. Just a baring of his white teeth and a bruising grip, followed by a sanctified whisper of Will’s name and a last snap of his hips before he spent himself. He had tried unconsciously to hide his face at the last moment, but Will caught his cheek and stared into his eyes. He too looked like the saints he had described… pained and frightened but… something else. A desire. A want that couldn’t quite be quantified.

Will carded a hand through Hannibal’s mussed hair as he collapsed onto his side. His hand slid from Will’s neck to coil around his waist as he dabbed with obvious irritation at his eyes which still glittered in the dim light.

“Not quite what I meant to show you.” He muttered sullenly. Hannibal pooled Will close against his side, molding their bodies together, heedless of the sticky slide of their skin.

Will leaned over and kissed his cheeks, letting his tongue flick out over the scar that marred his face, and tasting the salt on his skin. He worked down to his wide, smiling mouth, trailing lazy kisses along the corners and the edges of his Cupid’s bow. 

“It’s what I wanted to see.” Will answered against Hannibal’s lips before he kissed him in earnest.


	10. Cold Blows the Winter Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! The next chapter is here. No warnings to speak of... just FBI procedural business, Jack Crawford being as dense as a protein bar, and dear sweet St. Alana having none of it.
> 
> Many thanks to LawlessDragon for the beta!
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and the comments! They really do give me life. I try to respond to everyone, so if I've missed you, I'm sorry!
> 
> Enjoy!

Dr. Alana Bloom bundled her burgundy coat tight around her waist as she exited the car upon arriving at Quantico. The end of the constant, numbing rain had given way to winter’s icy claws raking up the East Coast. The cold wind bit like the jaws of a bear trap through even the best warm clothing, and today it had succeeded in hobbling Alana to her cane. Neither of those things were a boost to her mood. Especially not when she was due to deal with Jack Crawford that day.

When she stepped into the conference room at Quantico, a barbed lump rose in her throat. Images of Will and Hannibal were plastered all over the projector screen. Candids. Mug shots. All in black and white, contrasted with the vivid colors of the photos from the two crime scenes. 

Jack Crawford was talking to Zeller and Price when she entered, and he saw her just as her countenance bent with a concerned frown. “Dr. Bloom.” He greeted. “What is it?”

She gave a little shake of her head as she shifted on her cane. “I never thought it was possible to experience deja vu while watching the inevitable unfold before my eyes.”

“None of us saw this coming Alana,” Crawford soothed with practiced automation.

She snorted dryly, still not looking at him but gazing up at the images over his head. “I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again. Naivete does not become you, Jack. Your surprise is one hundred percent the product of willful ignorance.” She glanced over at the other agents who stared at her with impressed horror, before she huffed a sigh and shook her head again. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner we find Will, the better.”

She limped briskly over to the conference table and took a seat. She began unpacking her files, most of which contained hard copies of the images projected above her that she was trying desperately to ignore. The men in the room followed suit except for Jack who went to a computer perched on a podium at the far end of the table. 

“Give me a moment to contact our counterparts at INTERPOL and we’ll get started.” Jack said. After a few moments, two faces appeared on a smaller projection screen; a middle aged woman with shrewd eyes and graying red hair, and a man well into his sixties with close cropped salt and pepper hair and beard. 

“Good afternoon everyone.” Jack began. “I’d like to introduce the President of INTERPOL, Delphine Du Roi, and the head of the UN security task force that deals with dangerous criminals, Detective Tiberio Anselmetti.” Both the faces on the screen nodded in greeting. “Madame Du Roi is a new face to us on the Lecter case, but Detective Anselmetti was on Detective Pazzi’s squad that hunted Hannibal Lecter both when he was active in Florence as Il Monstro, and when we were tailing him in Italy three years ago.”

“And thus on Mason Verger’s payroll as well?” Alana asked tartly.

Leather creaked as everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats. 

Jack cleared his throat to answer but Anselmetti beat him to it. “A means to an end.” He replied with a tight, overly courteous smile. “Verger had information that we did not have the legal ability to obtain. And Pazzi had a personal vendetta, which we all agree is poison to our profession. But I assure you, my loyalties are only to justice. As are yours, I’m sure.”

Alana snorted in sullen disbelief.

Jack cleared his throat again, and attempted by tone of voice to regain control of the room. “Clearly we’re all familiar with Dr. Alana Bloom’s work on this case. Also joining me are Agents Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller who have been poring over the all evidence at our disposal from the Dolarhyde and Du Maurier murders. You both should have copies of everything that we have on this case so far.”

Both DuRoi and Anselmetti nodded as everyone bent over their files.

“Here is what we know so far.” Jack pointed a remote at the computer. “Dr. Lecter took Will Graham to a cabin on the Atlantic ocean about two hundred miles south of where he initially escaped custody. It is unclear if Will Graham went willingly or was forced, but there were no obvious signs of struggle. ”

Alana pressed her lips together and managed by no small miracle to say nothing.

“We know that the serial killer Francis Dolarhyde, also known as the Toothfairy, followed them and attacked them in the house, with the presumed plan to film himself killing at least one of them. We found his camera set up on a tripod at the scene. Graham and Lecter fought back together and ultimately killed him.” He clicked through a series of images of Dolarhyde’s body both at the crime scene and in the forensics lab.

“Did the camera happen to catch any of the struggle?” Du Roi inquired, peering at her notes through wire rimmed spectacles.

“Unfortunately not. He hadn’t begun filming.” Price answered.

Crawford nodded appreciatively before continuing. “From examining the blood trails and splatters, we are fairly certain that after killing Dolarhyde, Graham and Lecter, who were both injured in the fight, fell over the cliff into the Atlantic. They were considered missing and possibly deceased as their whereabouts for almost two weeks were unknown. The next time they resurface is at Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier’s house outside of Baltimore.” Crawford flipped to side by side pictures. One a professional portrait of the woman in question, and the other an image of her body slumped over her dining table.

“Isn’t that…” Du Roi began but Anselmetti cut her off.

“The Devil’s wife, yes.” He sneered darkly. “Slippery thing. Managed to get away into your protective custody, Agent Crawford.”

“There was no evidence she was complicit in his crimes.” Jack explained with bland stoicism that Alana knew always hid half-truths. “And she ultimately helped us catch him the second time.”

“Regardless, it’s nice to see that her story played out to a fitting end.”

Alana exchanged anxious looks with Zeller and Price as Crawford quickly skipped to the next slide. “I brought in INTERPOL and the UN Security Council on this because, as Dr. Bloom and I had anticipated, Lecter and Graham did turn up in Europe. Paris to be exact.”

Jack tapped a few keys and the projector showed a grainy photo of both men walking through a terminal at De Gaulle International Airport. The sight stole Alana’s breath. Not because of seeing either of them, but because Hannibal was clearly escorting Will by the elbow. Much the same way Hannibal had escorted her through the curiosities of his house. The dinner table. The theremin. The library. To bed… She could almost feel it…

“Is this the only image we have?” Zeller’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“The only one of their faces yes.” Crawford replied. “This camera coming out of the terminal was unavoidable, but Lecter did an excellent job of steering them clear of most of the rest of them.”

“Did the flight manifest turn up anything?” Price asked, flipping through his file.

“There was no flight manifest.” Crawford replied. “It was a private flight with no recorded passengers. Any luck tracing the owner of the plane?”

“Not yet.” Du Roi replied. “The paper trail is air-tight so far. But we haven’t exhausted our resources just yet.”

“They left the airport as soon as they landed, and we’re working under the assumption that they were headed to catch a train. So far they haven’t turned up in any security footage, and we’ve discovered nothing out of order in the train passenger lists.” Crawford went on. “So, now our challenge is to figure out where they went before they leave a body to give us that information.”

“There haven’t been any murders so far?” Alana asked. “Not even in conjunction with their travel?”

“Not since Dr. Du Maurier, no.” Jack responded.

“We know when they arrived in Paris, and I’ve had my travel and commerce department sifting through all the recent deaths involving foul play… nothing at an airport or train station. Not even a cab driver.” Du Roi replied.

“Dr. Bloom, you were Hannibal’s colleague and knew him better than anyone.” Jack said, turning to her. She appreciated the blandness of his voice, but her cheeks colored a little all the same. “He mention any particular favorite haunts on the European continent?”

She shook her head as she frowned in thought. “Nothing immediately jumps to mind.”

“We have already canvassed his known locations from the last time he was in Europe.” Anselmetti chimed in. “So far nothing has turned up. Not that he ever leaves much to return to.”

Alana shook her head again. “No, he’ll go somewhere different this time.”

“You sound very sure of that.” Anselmetti retorted dryly.

She hung her head a little, fiddling with the edge of one of the photographs. One of Will’s mugshots from when he was arrested for Hannibal’s murders. His haggard face stared back at her with hollow, fevered eyes. “He has Will Graham with him this time, and I don’t think he’ll stand for Hannibal killing the way he always has. And Hannibal… he’ll want to show off somehow. But it won’t be in his usual style. That wouldn’t impress Will and he knows it.”

“So you think they’ve just disappeared into a cabin in the Alps?” Price asked. “That would be too much to hope for.”

“It would.” Alana agreed. “But I don’t think he’ll have taken Will to a big city. Not with the hunt for them being this high profile. But they won’t be far from some major culture center. Paris. Brussels.”

“Vienna.” Du Roi offered, and Alana nodded in agreement.

“We should watch for strange deaths in the fields of academia.” Anselmetti stated, the sound of his pen scratching was audible over the microphone. “That was how he hollowed out his hiding place last time.”

Alana felt her mouth unconsciously tighten, and the movement drew Crawford’s eye. “You don’t agree, Dr. Bloom. Why?”

She shook her head thoughtfully as she spoke. “You’re all acting like he’s going to pick right back up where he left off, and that doesn’t feel right to me.” she answered. “Lecter left a trail of bodies last time, even though he knew we were looking for him. Even killed his cab driver. It’s going to be different this time. It’s already different. And I think that’s because his focus isn’t his… indulgences. He isn’t interested in throwing lavish parties or swanning around academic circles. His focus is on Will Graham.”

Crawford nodded. “That’s fair. But until we have evidence otherwise-”

“You trusted Will’s empathy and instincts without evidence.” Alana cut him off.

“Yeah. And look where that got us.”

“Look where you -not- trusting my instincts has gotten us. More than once.” she retorted sharply, holding up Will’s mugshot for emphasis.

The room held its breath.

“She has a point.” Zeller added softly, drawing a harsh glare from Crawford. “What? I’m not saying we shouldn’t be looking at your suggestions too, but Will is not the only genius to walk the halls of the FBI.”

Alana blinked in surprise and found she couldn’t keep a smile off her face. “Thanks, Zeller.” 

He shrugged. “It’s the truth. And I’m tired of seeing every case involving these two turning into some sort of point and click adventure game, where everything only has one esoteric solution.”

“Here, here.” Price cheered.

“Thank you, Zeller.” Jack said, with a biting finality that ended the conversation. “Dr. Bloom does have a point, so we should all keep an open mind in addition to looking for established patterns. Deal?”

“I can agree with that.” Du Roi replied primly.

“So, President Du Roi,” Jack went on, “If you will please continue your investigation of the trains scheduled to leave Paris after their arrival. Detective Anselmetti, keep a close eye on deaths involving foul play. You get even the faintest whiff of Lecter’s MO, you email the case details to me immediately.”

“Yes, Agent Crawford.” Anselmetti replied. “Thank you for your assistance in this.”

“If there’s nothing further, our next telecon is in 48 hours unless something new shows up before then. Have a good day.”

Anselmetti and Du Roi murmured their goodbyes and winked out leaving nothing but the grainy photo of Will and Hannibal at the De Gaulle terminal on the projection screen.

“Well, I’m going to head back down to the lab. It dawned on me just now that Lecter might have used Dr. Du Maurier as a go between to get the off-the-books flight to Paris. I’m going to go look through her correspondence one more time.” Zeller said, standing and gathering his things.

“I’m going to go pull my notes on the Florence murders three years ago. Maybe we might find something? Or find something to rule out.” Price added as he followed his partner out the door.

“Thanks, guys.” Alana said, genuine gratitude coloring her voice and the weary smile on her face.

“Don’t mention it. Catch you later!” Zeller replied with a wave.

That left Dr. Bloom and Agent Crawford alone, with only the buzzing of the projector as company. She oscillated in her chair, unwilling to get up and torment her hip by walking just yet.

“Anselmetti…” Alana said, rolling the unfamiliar name around on her tongue. “ He seems particularly driven.”

“He has good cause.” Jack replied as he shuffled about, shutting down the projector and computer. “His wife was one of Hannibal’s victims on his first tour through Florence. And then of course he got his boss on the second.”

Alana made a little noncommittal noise as she flipped her case file closed.

“What.” Jack said flatly.

“Just… I hope he keeps his head if this is personal for him.”

“It’s personal for all of us.”

“And Hannibal knows how to play that. So does Will for that matter.” Alana warned. “ And that just isn’t my gut. We have evidence of that.”

“Fair enough.” Crawford responded as she stood creakily to her feet, doing her best not to show the stiff pain on her face. “See you in a couple days. Hopefully, there will be news by then.”

Alana had to bite back a candid response.

I hope not.


	11. Tuneful Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! I'm back with another update!
> 
> No warnings on this chapter... just some heavy suit porn and rude opera patrons. For those who are curious, this chapter puts us past the half-way point in terms of word count, so we've still got a ways to go.
> 
> Thank you all for your kudos and kind words. It really does make my day to see the AO3 Comment email in my inbox.
> 
> Enjoy!

Will stepped out of the shower, his newly tanning skin gilt by the steam and the warm light of late afternoon shining through the open window. He was toweling his curls when he caught sight of Hannibal standing by the foot of the bed and pulled up short by the doorframe. Will was vaguely aware that he’d not only stopped moving but stopped breathing as well

Hannibal was wearing his full tuxedo, minus the tie which lay flat on the bedspread like a sunning serpent. The incomplete image was at once inviting and a little embarrassing. Like it would have been no different for Will to walk in on him completely naked. 

Hannibal smiled at him. A real smile that reached his black eyes and made them sparkle with roguish mirth. “What did you think I was going to wear tonight?” He asked playfully as he flipped up the starched collar of his white shirt and slipped his tie around his neck. 

Will just laughed to himself as he watched him finish dressing. Hannibal looked for all the world like painting. A sculpture. One of those portraits depicting its subject an intimate moment which would have been considered by turns to be both scandalous and inviting. Giving voice to something unmentionable in polite society. Not for fear of impropriety, but for reasons that went far beyond anything that could be bounded by a moral compass. Somehow both achingly human and yet only to be admired from a distance or through glare-free glass. It made Will want to touch him all the more.

Will swallowed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and chuckled. “You look really good.” he replied, feeling somewhat disparaged at the simplicity of his words.

“Thank you.” Hannibal replied genuinely as he straightened his cuffs with an approving smile. “It has been awhile since I was properly attired.”

It dawned on Will then that he hadn’t seen Hannibal Lecter in a suit since dinner at Bedelia’s a full month ago. At least. He had long since quit paying attention to the passage of days. Only noting the slow warming of the world as spring had unfolded through the surrounding woods like a many-petaled flower. 

As Hannibal turned away from him to face the gilt wall mirror, Will moved to get dressed. He found all the tufts and baubles for his own tuxedo laid out on the bed, as if someone were going to dress him rather than leave him to his own devices. 

“It’s going to be warm tonight.” Hannibal said as Will pulled on his underclothes. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to take the Porsche into the city and ride with the top down.” Hannibal spoke over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on the stretch of silk around his throat.

“That’s fine with me.” Will replied, stepping into the black wool slacks. “I’d hoped the cool weather would hold on long enough for me to be comfortable in this tux at least once.” 

“I think you’ll find that the quality of this material is superior to whatever partially polyester monstrosities you’ve worn in the past.” Hannibal said, wrinkling his nose in a way that made Will have to stifle a laugh. “High quality summer weight wool is never a burden in even the hottest weather.”

“You give me too much credit if you think that the last tux I wore was only partially polyester.” Will replied with a smirk as he returned his attention to dressing. The white shirt whispered over his skin, starkly crisp and smooth. He shivered, not from coolness of the fabric, but from the tactile pleasure as it slipped over his shoulders. It was the same shiver he gave each night when he crawled into bed and settled between the sheets with their obscenely high threadcount.

As he slid the jacket over his shoulders, Will caught Hannibal watching him in the mirror, his fingers working to tie his bowtie from memory. Will felt a blush blooming up his face as Hannibal crossed to him in his now perfect and resplendent formal wear. Again, the desire to touch him overwhelmed Will, even though every starched angle seemed ready and willing to draw blood.

May I?” Hannibal held out a black bowtie between his long fingers.

“Please.” Will responded, turning up his collar. “I certainly can’t do it.”

“You’ll learn. But indulge me for now.” He replied with a wink as he slipped the length of silk around Will’s neck. He noted from the close view that the silk was not black but a vivid, saturated midnight blue, striated with the finest silver thread he’d ever seen. From a distance it would only be perceived as giving the fabric an undefinable sheen.

“Always wanted to tie me up?” Will asked cheekily, not caring how trite it sounded.

Hannibal gave a rumble of amusement. “I’ve never found I’ve needed to. Especially not now.” He flattened the collar back into place and ran his fingers along the nape of Will’s neck under the guise of freeing his curls from the stiff fabric. Will leaned into the touch just slightly.

“Do you intend to cut it?” Hannibal asked, winding a curl around his finger and laying it against Will’s cheek so it framed his face.

He lifted a shoulder in indecision. “Do you like it?” 

“While long hair or short hair is not something I’ve ever felt strongly about,” Hannibal replied with an incline of his head. “I admit, I’m partial to the look of longer hair on you. It makes you look… sweet.”

“Sweet?” Will arched an eyebrow.

“Demure, if you like.” Hannibal corrected as he straightened the knot against the hollow of Will’s throat. “Or obliging.”

Will felt the heat riding further up in his face. “You’re the only one allowed to think so.” he said, suddenly finding the carpet very interesting.

Hannibal reached out and tipped Will’s chin up, laying a feather-light kiss on his parted lips. “I’m the only one that will know so. Especially when you look like this.” He stated, smoothing his hands over Will’s shoulders before turning him to face the full length mirror on the far wall.

His reflection baffled him at first. He cocked his head, staring at himself like a dog might listen to an unfamiliar sound. He looked strange. Oddly sharp, but well proportioned in the cut angles of the jacket, which didn’t so much fit him as it appeared to be a part of him. He suddenly became aware of everywhere the tuxedo hugged his skin, and the fact that its fit was informing his posture. He stood straighter, with his shoulders more square which made him appear more confident and at ease than he’d ever been in his life. Also unlike every other suit he had owned, this left no question as to his physique. No gapping shoulders, or too long cuffs. It was as if Hannibal’s exactness had created this image for him. Like it was a painting rather than a reflection.

And Hannibal stood behind him, sporting his own tuxedo as he always did. Like armor. A shadow of a shadow, wearing a pleased and pleasured smile that could have cut glass. Will understood for a moment why so many people had called him the Devil. 

He found himself leaning back into him unconsciously. “I should send a thank-you note to Madame Laurent.” Will replied, the words were ghostly leaving his mouth.

“She certainly out-did herself on yours.” Hannibal replied, smoothing his hands over Will’s shoulders again, fingers digging slightly into the fabric.

“I meant yours.” Will replied with a roguish grin.

Hannibal smiled, stooping to kiss Will behind his ear. “If we leave now, we’ll have time enough to peruse the shops around the Staatsoper. Perhaps we can procure a bottle of wine to send her.”

The ride to Vienna took a little over an hour, and while riding with the top down through the Austrian countryside had been thrilling, it left Will feeling a little mussed and unkempt as they pulled into the valet parking line outside the opera house. As they waited to be served, Hannibal pulled a comb from his pocket to tame his feathered and disheveled hair back into place. It was like magic. He’d gone from a little ragged and windswept to perfectly poised and contained with a few flicks of his wrist. Will smiled to himself, suddenly not feeling so bad for missing that he was the Chesapeake Ripper. And that thought was blessedly fleeting.

They handed off their car, and began strolling by the arched windows of the opera house. Two hours slipped by as easily as water over a well worn stream bed. As evening began to settle into the air around them, they bought wine, and tasted cheese, and Hannibal indulged Will in a pair of understated platinum cufflinks that had caught his eye. He protested at first, especially after hearing the price, but once Hannibal fixed them to his cuffs, he couldn’t stop admiring them every time they captured the glow of a passing street lamp.

He was getting more adept at accepting pleasurable things whenever they were offered and allowing himself to be indulged by the world around him. And by Hannibal. Hannibal had started with small, tacit things… like their expensive sheets, or whiskey that Will craved not for the burn of the alcohol, but because he wanted to experience the heady caramel flavor one more time. Now, Hannibal was growing more bold. And to his credit, so was Will.

As night seeped into the streets of Vienna, they made their way back to the opera house. The passage of sunset had transformed it from a forbidding structure of detailed white marble, to an inviting, gilded palace. Scattered around the steps and filling the interior were knots of elegantly dressed patrons. Tuxedos of varying levels of ostentatiousness and taste, and gowns spanning from fitted satin to colorful tufts of taffeta and lace all drifted about. The ladies in particular reminded Will of bits of tissue paper or the snugly wrapped candies Alana had always kept in a dusty cut glass bowl on her desk back at the university. He wasn’t sure if anyone ever ate them.

As they moved inside and wove their way through the patrons clotted on the grand staircase, Will dropped his hand into Hannibal’s, suddenly fearing what would happen if they got separated. The thought occurred to him that they hadn’t worked out aliases, or an escape plan. And even if they had, Will couldn’t bear the thought of getting separated in this press of humanity. Hannibal looked back at him, his wide mouth splitting in a sage but comforting smile as he knitted their fingers together.

Will thought he would feel more comfortable once they were in their seats, but the lavishly appointed concert hall held its own challenges. He looked around, seeing balcony after balcony and rows of plush box seats marching up the walls. It was unnerving being surrounded by people for stories and stories, the air buzzing with a thousand conversations. Everywhere he looked were faces in the warm light. Stretching out in a sea around him and lining the walls, all the way up to the painted ceiling. It reminded him of the dreams he had as a child before he could use his adulthood to escape forced socialization. 

Hannibal had noticed his uneasiness long before they sat down, but had clearly and mercifully chosen not to fret. “A full house, it seems.” He opined blandly, glancing around.

Will looked up at him, leaning their legs together. He looked rather pitiful as he took his hand again. “Good for the opera company, I guess.”

“It’s one of the best opera companies in the world. The Staatsoper has been in operation for over 200 years. And it’s always a full house.” Hannibal replied with a twist of a smile. “What about it is bothering you?”

“Feels… too close. I’ve always avoided places like this for a reason.”

“We didn’t have to come, Will.”

“No… no I wanted to. I know you enjoy the opera and I… part of me wants to be a part of that.”

“Mmm…” Hannibal hummed. “Tell me what you see that makes you so uncomfortable?”

“It just… it seems unnatural and put on. As if they’re here for something else.” He answered casting a distainful eye around the concert hall. “Like… those seats up there.” He pointed to the box seats lined up and stacked along the wall, each filled with its own little vignette of tuxedos and colorful dresses. 

“What about them seems off-putting to you?”

“I’m guessing those private boxes are some of the most expensive seats in the theatre.” Will answered, fighting the urge to fidgit. “But those can’t be good seats.”

“You’re correct on both counts. They aren’t good seats, save the few boxes closest to the stage. Otherwise, we’d be sitting there. You’re presupposing that the patrons occupying them are here to watch the opera.”

Will frowned sharply at that. “But… it’s opening night.”

“They’ve seen Otello a thousand times.” Hannibal said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Who sings it is meaningless. Some of them could probably sing along… and frequently did in olden days. Mercifully, that aspect of opera patronage has died the death it truly deserves.”

“So what… they’re here to socialize?”

Hannibal gave an acquiescing shrug. “Indeed. To see and be seen. Hence why they’re in little puppet theatres of their own. If it helps, pretend they are intermezzi. Little bits of drama that come at the intermission between acts. I certainly do.”

Will smiled up at him then, still a little apprehensive, but amused at Hannibal’s brushoff. Hannibal, his face fairly glowing with approval, reached over and took Will’s hand just as the lights dimmed.

Will had a hard time concentrating at first. Every rustle and movement in the audience around him clawed at his attention. Coughing. Candy wrappers. Shuffling feet. And then on stage… This was his first time to ever see opera in a live performance. And he was certainly no connoisseur of classical music, but he found it nearly impossible to focus. He watched their movements, all staged and turned open to the audience. Not how real people would stand or move… It was surprisingly difficult to watch.

He felt Hannibal lean in close, his breath hot above his collar. “The presentational nature of the opera is part of the design.” he whispered. “Stop watching and look at what they are trying to show you. Hear what they are saying and how they came to be able to say it.”

Will shut his eyes for the a breath, and then allowed his focus to be drawn. He knew the story of Othello. It was actually one of his favorite Shakespeare plays. And so even without the benefit of supertitles in English, he knew what was happening. He took a long deep breath, and relaxed and let the singers show him. Just as he would relax at Hannibal’s behest. He could see it… surmise it rather. The hours of practice. The toils of memorization. The aches of long rehearsal days. It told a story all its own.

The first act passed quickly after that. Almost exhilaratingly quickly, and Will was sad to see the lights come up. It had been comfortable there in the dark, letting the music cascade across his ear and teasing apart a harmless story. He didn’t have words to describe the relationship between the notes and the words… but he could sense it. Almost like he could sense the design of the killers he’d hunted for Jack...

“The interval will last at least twenty minutes.” Hannibal’s voice broke into his reverie. He blinked a few times to clear his mind, hoping absently that Hannibal wouldn’t think he had fallen asleep. “Would you like to get something to drink?” 

Will lifted a shoulder, still half expecting it to ache with the movement but it didn’t. “Sure.” He said, rising to follow Hannibal out of the row of seats.

The bar was on the bottom floor of the lobby, and it was surrounded by a crush of people. Will automatically hesitated at the edge of the crowd, and Hannibal took his elbow. “Wait here. I’ll get you something. A scotch?”

“Sounds fantastic right now.” Will replied tightly.

Hannibal kissed his temple before he left, which surprised him and made his cheeks color. He’d never imagined that Hannibal would ever show him affection publicly. But here… where no one knew them. No one knew that they were or ever had been working together or that Hannibal had ever functioned as his therapist. They were just two more faces to add to the school of colorful fish that sloshed around the opera house. There was something wonderfully liberating about that fact, and Will actually smiled as he watched Hannibal weave his way towards the bar.

“I’m shocked he would leave someone as handsome as you alone.” a thickly accented voice said from far too close on Will’s right. He jumped and turned to find a grinning face and an extended hand at an uncomfortably tight proximity. “Kilian Pichler. Are you a regular?” His thinning black hair was slicked back from his face, much the same way Hannibal sometimes wore his. But on Hannibal, with his high cheekbones and capacious mouth, it looked clean and well groomed, if a tad otherworldly. On this man’s narrow, rattish face and with his receding hairline, it merely looked slippery and contrived.

“Um… first time.” Will replied, quickly shaking his hand. He regretted his choice of words when Kilian’s smile grew even more teeth.

“Well, welcome then.” he crowed, throwing his arms out wide. “It’s nice to have some new blood around here. It was growing a bit stale.” 

Will could only manage what he imagined was a very forced smile in reply. He glanced off towards where he presumed Hannibal was, but the press of people had swallowed him up. He wanted him back now, drinks or no. 

“So tell me your thoughts so far?” Kilian urged, leaning what he probably thought was invitingly against the wall. He was standing too close, angled unnaturally with his shoulders turned towards Will and his hips out towards the rest of the room. It reminded him of the forced perspective of the staging he’d been watching earlier and it was instantly off-putting. As was his shiny, pewter gray suit and bright magenta tie. He quickly deduced that Kilian was that brand of extrovert that always made his skin crawl. Not only did he want to talk to Will, but he wanted to be seen doing it. 

“I’m… not a very good judge.” Will replied, eyes still desperately scanning the crowd for signs of Hannibal. “I’ve not seen much opera. I’m… here with a friend.”

“Yes, I saw your “friend.”” He smarmed, chewing on the word “friend” unnecessarily. “Must not be a very good friend since he left you all alone. You came all this way to see something you care very little about, and then he leaves you to the wolves?”

Will swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I don’t dislike opera.” He defended. “He just knows I don’t like crowds.”

“Well, there are more private areas of the opera house. One learns them after a few seasons. They have their uses, and not just for avoiding people you don’t want to talk to.”

Will’s face felt hot, and his tuxedo which he had almost luxuriated in at the beginning of the evening seemed to fit too tight. Like it was letting Kilian see anything and everything he wanted.

Thankfully, before he had to reply, Hannibal returned with drinks in hand. Will watched him take in the scene with a flick and narrowing of his gaze, and suddenly Will’s anxiety had nothing to do with his own discomfort at Kilian’s presumptuous advances. 

“Ah. Speak of the devil.” Kilian said, completely oblivious to the nature of what lay behind Hannibal’s perfect mask. “I was just getting to know your friend. Kilian Pichler. I’m a member of the donor board.”

“A pleasure” Hannibal answered coldly before he turned to Will and handed him his drink, which he accepted gratefully. “Apologies. I was detained talking to the bartender. She’s chatty.”

“My, but your companion is a sweet one.” Kilian said, still leaning on the wall far too close for Will’s liking. He wanted to pull Hannibal close, or pull him away altogether. He couldn’t settle the fight between his own anxiety and the look of fearsome disapproval in Hannibal’s eyes. “If you’ve got business to attend to I’m happy to keep him company”

Will had to resist the urge to drain his scotch in one go. Thankfully, without another word, Hannibal had his arm around him and was leading him back to their seats.

“Hannibal, don’t.” Will managed as they climbed the stairs.

“You’re distressed. Would you rather not be touched?”

“No, it’s…” Will pulled him into a small alcove where only a statue of some long dead composer would overhear them. “I know what you’re thinking.” His voice had fallen to a sharp whisper.

Hannibal’s face was an unreadable mask. “Do you?”

“I saw your face when you walked up. Please don’t do it.”

A tiny muscle in Hannibal’s jaw twitched. “Forgive me if I feel driven to show my displeasure with him. You can rest easy knowing his doom wouldn’t be visiting him for awhile yet. You could help me, if you wished.”

Will choked at the offer. “No, please. Not ever.” he begged. He pulled Hannibal closer and lowered his voice even further. “You know how you can show it. I told you already how I’ll help you.”

Hannibal stiffened and looked away. “I can’t do that.”

“Then, you’re not angry enough.”

Hannibal took a couple of visible breaths, his eyes darting out towards the milling crowd in the lobby. Will reached up to stroke his cheek and draw his eyes back from whatever he was seeing. Then he kissed him. Hannibal didn’t react at first, not even to kiss back, but after a moment he obliged.

“You’ll have me all to yourself tonight.” Will promised. “I think… I think I want that after all this.”

After a brief silence, Hannibal nodded and cupped Will’s elbow to lead him back to their seats.

Will shamelessly let himself list into Hannibal as the lights dimmed. Maybe it was the scotch which he still drank far too fast, but he found himself rewarded when Hannibal reached over and covered Will’s hand with his own. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and he felt Hannibal smile in the dark near him. Calm settled over him again as the curtain went up. One more act, and then they could go home.

***


	12. Through the Even Flowing Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! And apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I've been laid up with the flu for the better part of the last week... and The Path came out yesterday. Y'know... priorities. In related news, I'm starting a cult dedicated to Hugh Dancy's biceps if anyone's interested.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is very much NSFW. Lots of porn, and also creepy nightmares and discussion of past injuries.
> 
> I plan on getting another chapter out next week, but the schedule may be a little wonky. I'm stage managing a production of Peter Pan and we go into technical rehearsals on Monday. But the chapter is coming, I promise.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for your kudos and comments. There truly is no greater joy than seeing an AO3 comment email in my inbox. Much love always!
> 
> Enjoy!

Will was exhausted by the time they left the opera, both from the earlier altercation at the bar and from the emotionally pitched conclusion to the story of Othello. So much so that even with the top down and the chilly air buffeting his face, he still drifted off to sleep as they drove back to their retreat in the Austrian forest. Maybe it was no more than simple exhaustion, but Hannibal knew from the lines in his face that it was relief that had carried him off into slumber.

Will eased back into wakefulness as the gravel of the driveway crunched under the tires, his mouth splitting into a jaw-cracking yawn.

“We’re home. If you’re hungry, I can put out some of the cheese we bought, though the wine should be chilled before we indulge.” Hannibal offered as he exited the car.

Will shook his head, tousling his wind-mussed curls into his eyes. He groaned as he set about peeling himself stiffly out of his seat. “I just want bed. And you.” he almost grunted.

Hannibal smiled indulgently as he held open the side door leading into the kitchen for Will. “I do seem to remember you promising something to that effect when we got back here tonight.” It earned him a tired but mirthful smile.

Once they were upstairs, Will had started to disrobe, but he got distracted with the texture of the fabric. Hannibal took his hands and kissed them before he pushed the jacket from his shoulders himself. “You were right about this suit.” Will said dreamily.

“How so?” He asked as he laid the jacket aside across the fainting couch at the foot of the bed.

“That it’s comfortable.” Will said. “There was a lot about this evening that was comfortable… I even thought about Jack and Alana tonight and… and it didn’t hurt or make me feel uneasy. It was just… a part of me. Like the suit was a part of me. I was…” he shrugged at his loss for words. “Comfortable.”

“I’m glad something about this evening was for you.” Hannibal replied softly. “Perhaps a smaller event next time.”

Will thought he heard a twinge of regret in his voice and it made his heart give a start. “I had a good time.” he assured him, tugging him in for a kiss. “It was just a lot of people. I think I got too used to only being around you. And you let me wander off by myself whenever I want to. But… it was a nice evening. And I do want to go back, though I admit that I like your idea of a smaller event.”

“Truly?” Hannibal’s face lit up with a soft smile.

Will nodded. “Except for that asshole down at the bar.”

Hannibal made a disgusted noise. “Hopefully, we will be able to avoid him in the future. For his sake.”

“You mean mine.” Will replied as he slipped Hannibal’s jacket off and tossed it to join his own across the fainting couch at the foot of their bed.

“I couldn’t make you take the place of that swaggering peacock.” Hannibal said with a feral twitch of his lip. “I couldn’t bear it.” 

“And I can’t bear losing you.” Will told him, sliding his hands up the smooth, white expanse of Hannibal’s shirt. It was as soft as his own, and warmed by Hannibal’s skin. Will could feel the faint thud of his heart beneath his palms. “I can’t even imagine losing you. But you can imagine hurting me. I see you doing it behind that mask you always wear.”

Hannibal studied him as he worked Will’s tie free of his collar, his dark eyes shining in the lamp light. He tipped his chin up and gazed down into Will’s eyes. They had always been a shifting color, as difficult to pin down enough to describe as his gaze had once been to hold. Just when they seemed slate gray as old asphalt, the barest shift of the sun would would turn them to a brilliant sapphire blue. “You gave up your world for me.” Hannibal said, his voice barely more than a rumble. “Your wife. Your child. Your dogs. Your livelihood. All just to follow me across the ocean. And you would have me hurt you now.”

“You make it sound like a fairytale. Like you’ve never hurt me before.” Will smiled against the fabric as he teased open the buttons of Hannibal’s shirt, paring it back to reveal the skin beneath. He didn’t fail to notice that Hannibal averted his gaze at the accusation. “You ever read Grimm’s Fairy tales?”

“Assuredly.”

“They’re not so light and lovely are they?”

“Of course not. They are not meant to charm or please. They are warnings against unethical behavior. Not unlike the parables in the Bible.” Hannibal replied as Will eased the shirt from his shoulders.

“Full of amputations. Bloodletting. Flaying.” Will went on, letting Hannibal take his turn and peel his dress shirt and tie away from his body. “All outward deterrents for inward behavior. Certainly something I’m not disused to. Especially not from you.” 

As the shirt fell away, Hannibal caught his breath. Of course it was not the first time he had seen Will without his shirt, but in that moment his eye was drawn by the large, grinning scar that bisected Will’s belly. He traced it with the backs of his knuckles, as if he were afraid it might burn him. Then he forced his eyes away, to look at the other scars that decorated Will’s torso.

“I did not give you all of these.” he said, rubbing the pad of his thumb over a scar from the fight with Dolarhyde, still ruddy and angry looking by comparison to the others.

Will almost smiled at the defensiveness in his tone. “No, but you did give me the worst of them. Both physically and not.”

Hannibal rumbled deep in his chest, as he reached up to caress the faded line from the bone saw that marred his forehead. “I will give you more scars if you have your way. Do you want that?”

“I want you.” Will answered pointedly.

Hannibal pressed his ample lips into a thin line. “Do you understand why I was upset with him?”

Will actually laughed. “Remember who you’re talking to.” he jibed, and he was rewarded with a weak smile. He wrapped his hand around Hannibal’s waist to pull him in and felt a strange roughness under his hands. He frowned and turned him around slowly to see where his hand had fallen.

“Mason Verger’s brand.” Hannibal said softly. “It’s still numb in places.”

Will could see it faintly in the dim light. It was the first time he’d ever really looked at it or touched it. Slightly darker and raised. Unreadable with the passage of years, but recognizable for what it was. He remembered the rough hands of Verger’s men on Hannibal with sudden and visceral clarity. His silver knife cutting into him, sizing him up. He found that scar too, just a clean raised line of scar tissue on the small of his back. Will could feel his own jealousy rising up in his throat like bile. If he could have killed Verger again at that moment he wouldn’t have hesitated. And he probably would have done it with his own hands. Or maybe his daddy’s special knife.

Hannibal turned over his shoulder to watch the emotions dance across Will’s face. “You understand?”

Will just nodded, looking up at him darkly. “But I want revenge because I want to keep you to myself.”

“I feel the same way.”

“You won’t be able to keep me if you swat that pest at the opera. And I’m not going anywhere with him anyway. You know that.” Will said.

“You agree he’s a pest then?”

Will frowned for a second and shook his head. “I’ve told you. I’m not doing this out of pity for him. You think too much of me in that case. I’m trying to save you.”

“And yourself.”

“And myself.” Will agreed, sitting down on the bed. “Haven’t we already agreed that those are the same thing?”

Hannibal dropped to his knees in front of Will, smoothing his hands up over his arms, thumbs brushing across his scars. The old stab wound, bone white and faded with time, from his police force days when he’d learned he couldn’t pull the trigger. The pucker of scar tissue where Jack had shot him in the arm in the Hobbs house. And its twin from Chiyoh’s rifle on the other side. Dolarhyde’s knife wound in his shoulder, now shiny and pink but already rapidly fading to match the others.

“What is it?” Will asked, noting the peculiar expression on his face as he catalogued all the old impressions.

Hannibal licked his lips and looked up at him without a shred of guile in his eyes. “Will you think less of me if I tell you that I wish I had given you all of these?”

Will swallowed and shook his head. “Of course not.”

“They were all careless.” He said, hands still tracing all the marks. His voice was soft, but filled with biting malice. “They meant to make you bleed and then leave you. And now you want me to make you bleed so that I won’t be taken from you.”

Will’s hands clutched at Hannibal’s where they rested against his collarbones. “You’ve already hurt me in the worst ways possible.”

“And we have agreed that I was woefully misguided.” Hannibal looked up at him, his face so open that it made Will’s chest ache. “So many scars and you still want more. And I will give you more. Do you want that?”

Will let his breath hiss out between his teeth. “Yes.”

Hannibal nodded then, reaching up to cup his cheek. “But not tonight. For tonight, I am content to take you apart another way.”

Will smiled wearily as Hannibal’s dextrous fingers moved to open his fly. In his exhaustion, he was still soft and Hannibal slipped him into his mouth easily, rolling him over his tongue like when he was tasting wine earlier in the evening. Will let his head drop back, feeling his blood surge downward as Hannibal sucked him lazy ardor. Will fidgeted at first, nails clawing the bed sheets behind him and sinking into Hannibal’s broad shoulders before finding tentative purchase in the fine strands of Hannibal’s hair.

As Will’s cock thickened between his teeth, Hannibal set up a steady rhythm, ignoring his own hard on, and the fact that it jumped with every delicious sound Will made. It wasn’t long before Will was babbling… begging… but Hannibal didn’t know what for until he looked up at Will’s face, twisted in desperation. He shifted and moved constantly and suddenly Hannibal knew what was wrong. 

He pulled off with an obscene pop and rocked back on his heels, steadying Will on the bed. “I want you to fuck me.” Hannibal said, his voice as even and calm as if he were offering an opinion about lunch.

Will’s breath caught in his ribs and the words came out with more uncertainty and innocence than he would have liked. “You’d let me?”

Hannibal nodded evenly, fighting not to swoon at how sweetly earnest he looked asking that question.

“I’ve… never…” He trailed off, losing his train of thought to the effort of trying to recall Hannibal’s foreplay techniques… the way he would do the prep. They’d only had sex a few times since their first time… his first time… but Will couldn’t summon a concrete memory to mind. Just the overwhelming sensation, and it made his cock twitch and smear precum against his stomach.

Hannibal leaned up and kissed him, chasing the worries from his mind with a few languid flicks of his tongue. “Go slow if you’re worried about hurting me.” he told him as he rose to his feet and finished undressing. “I promise you, I’m far more patient than you.”

Will let a wicked little smirk flicker through the haze of nerves that clouded his features. “If that still holds true by the end of the night, then I’m doing something wrong.” He quickly shucked his own pants and underwear and kicked them to the side, making Hannibal suck his teeth with disapproval. “What?”

“If we’re caught because of dry cleaning bills…” Hannibal chided, as he handed Will the jar of lube.

Will laughed, giving Hannibal’s hand a little tug to send him sprawling on the bed. Hannibal caught his wrist and pulled him along, spilling him out over his body. Will huffed out a breath and smiled as he began tracing Hannibal’s scars. Some he recognized… Injuries from the fight with Dolarhyde and so forth. But some he didn’t. He looked so human with them bared and exposed.

“What are you doing?” Hannibal asked, a soft smile bending his lips.

“Touching you.” Will answered simply his eyes a little distant and glassy. “I never got to back… before. You always held yourself at such a distance. From everything, not just me. I just… noticed because I wanted to touch you.”

“What stopped you?” 

“Other than the boundaries of professionalism… at least at first.” Will’s hands continued to slowly trace the contours of Hannibal’s frame, teasing along the hollows of his hips, feeling the ridges of his ribs and skirting along the planes of his chest. “Your suits.”

“Really?”

“Even tonight. I was almost afraid to touch you. Like I would leave fingerprints.”

“You did.” Hannibal murmured into his mouth as he leaned up for a kiss. “You do.”

Then, Will caught sight of his wrists as Hannibal laced his hands behind his head. The scars that marched down along his forearms stood out on his even skin, still raised and white despite being so many years old. He took one hand turning the mark up towards the light. Surprisingly, he felt hot tears sting his eyes as he examined it.

“You’ve not ever really looked… have you?” Hannibal asked softly, his voice bereft of all its barbs. “I usually keep them well hidden.”

Will just shook his head, all words catching in his throat behind the tears he was desperately trying to keep at bay.

“Never really looked at what you tried to do to me.” Hannibal brought the other arm up to cradle Will’s shoulders as he dragged his fingers over the white line of scar tissue again and again.

“I didn’t want that.” he said, his voice saturated and ragged. “That pageant? I told him to be quick.”

“You should have known he wasn’t the type to be quick or subtle.” Hannibal said. “Especially since he knew the nature of his prey at least to some degree.”

“I was out of options… at least that’s what I thought.” Will hung his head, fingers sliding through the hair on Hannibal’s chest. “He came to me. It thought it was my only shot to put a stop to everything. To stop you.”

“Trying to kill me didn’t feel good?”

“Not like Hobbs.” Will shook his head miserably. “It didn’t feel just. It felt like desperation. Like it was the only option. For Alana. For Jack. I didn’t know what you would do. Especially after Beverly.”

Hannibal cocked his head as he cupped Will’s chin. “We forgave each other already.” He reminded him gently.

Will nodded, swallowing valiantly against his sorrow as he bent to kiss his wrist and then let Hannibal draw him down to capture his lips with his own. Will let his hands wander lower, brushing lightly across Hannibal’s thighs. His legs fell open almost wantonly as they broke their kiss, and Will had a hard time focusing on slicking up his fingers. The sight of Hannibal, spread out eagerly on the bed beneath him was too much to take in. Especially when Will knew in the back of his mind that Hannibal was as relaxed as a coiled snake. It was hard to believe that he was offering himself like this without some other agenda.

Will’s fingers slid carefully across Hannibal’s entrance, applying only the barest amount of pressure, but feeling him give all the same. “Tell me if I go too fast… or something.” Will told him, fighting to keep the words from sticking awkwardly to his teeth.

Hannibal smiled. “You needn’t be so careful with me.” He told him, circling his hips against Will’s fingers and making his cock strain and pulse at the sensation. Will couldn’t help himself. As his first finger slid inside up to the first knuckle, he leaned down and licked a wide, hot stripe up the underside of Hannibal’s cock.

His hand went to Will’s hair, tangling roughly in the strands and pulling his mouth down onto his length. Will moaned, the sound choked off as the head slid over his tongue and towards the back of his throat. He almost gagged and swallowed convulsively to cover it. The sensation drew a filthy groan from Hannibal. By some miracle, Will didn’t lose track of what his hand was doing as he slowly and patiently teased Hannibal open. He’d gotten his whole index finger inside and so he added a second, easing it in ever so carefully as he pulled back and let his lips slide over Hannibal’s cock in a tandem motion. Practice really did make perfect… or near enough.

Hannibal breathed Will’s name out like a prayer. There was nothing gentle about Will’s mouth. It was all hot suction and the very present hint of teeth that made the hair on Hannibal’s neck stand on end. But his fingers were mind-meltingly gentle. Slow and coaxing, just as Hannibal had done for Will.

“Enough.” Hannibal finally grunted, his voice ragged with desire. “I want to feel you.”

“What happened to you being more patient than me?” Will teased as he let himself be dragged to lie between Hannibal’s legs. He pulled one of his knees up over his shoulder, as he smeared more lube on his cock and lined himself up with his free hand. He felt like he should say something. Something about how he had wanted under Hannibal’s suits and under his skin, but he realized, with Hannibal panting underneath him and clutching his hair not for control but for stability, that anything he could say would be moot. Hannibal always had been under his skin.

The first press into his body was almost overwhelming. It took far more force than Will was comfortable with, but Hannibal was making these low, obscene sounds that begged for more without troubling to form actual words. Will couldn’t watch his face, contorted in a kind of blissful agony that made his chest ache and his cock throb. Instead he watched himself sink into Hannibal’s body. Felt him clutch up around the slow, hot invasion. His head felt swimmy and the edges of his vision went white.

“Will.” There was his name again. Barely even a name now. More of a primal sound borne of want and ecstasy.

When he bottomed out, Will stayed there, feeling Hannibal squeeze his length and watching sweat form on his skin giving it an almost beatific sheen. Hannibal returned his gaze steadily for a moment, before he looked away. It stole Will’s breath.

“Please move.” Hannibal begged, pulling him closer, using his hand in his hair for leverage. “I need… I need more… I feel...” His eyes darted nervously to Will’s face. Those last two words had slipped out of their own accord. Hannibal took a shuddering breath and finished the thought that had clearly spilled from his mouth without his examination or consent. “I feel like I will lose you. Like you will slip away from me.”

He moved down to balance on his elbows, cradling Hannibal’s shoulder’s between his hands. “You won’t. Just hold on to me.” Will promised. Hannibal’s grip on him turned almost painful as Will began to move, slow tentative circles of his hips that made his breath come in shaky little gasps. 

“You are the only person in the world to ever make me feel unsteady.” Hannibal said, his face still averted, a scalding hot blush creeping up his chest.

Will cupped his face and turned it up into the light. He saw the truth of his words there in the set of his jaw and the delirious shine in the fathomless pits of his eyes. The clarity of the moment came to him. Hannibal was not lying, or putting on a show. For what was probably the first time in a very long while. He had despaired because he wanted Will so much, and Will in turn would shatter without him. They really would be inseparable, always.

Will dropped his head to Hannibal’s chest and began thrusting in earnest. He could feel his own pulse on the back of his throat, and feel Hannibal’s against his face. He shifted his hips to get deeper, and Hannibal cried out, making Will’s ears ring and his rhythm falter.

“Yes, Will… please more…” he begged and Will obliged, watching his body disappear into Hannibal’s. And hearing him beg… Will didn’t think he’d beg for his life. He certainly had been given ample opportunity to do so in Will’s presence. But here he begged for Will. Just… for him.

The thought washed over him and pushed him closer to the brink that he expected. He heard himself whine as he shook with the effort of staving off his climax. But Hannibal’s grip in his hair tightened.

“Please…” He whispered his voice ruined with want.

And with that, Will was falling. He thrust wildly into the slick, tight heat of Hannibal, using his hips and his shoulders for slippery, sweat-soaked leverage. His vision clouded over as he pulsed into Hannibal’s paradoxically willing body, ears ringing with the sound of his name.

As the white haze cleared from his vision and he came back to himself, Will found that Hannibal was still hard. “You didn’t?” he asked.

“As you said… I wanted to see you.”

Will didn’t have words. He merely bent forward and pulled Hannibal’s cock into the warmth of his mouth. Hannibal cried out as he sucked softly. Only a few seconds and he was coming down Will’s throat with another ecstatic sigh of Will’s name.

They puddled together on the bed, breathing in the smell of their sex and shivering as the air cooled their sweat soaked skin.

“Come.” Hannibal said after a moment. “I think a bath is in order for both of us.”

Will followed, pliant as always and without comment.

***

That night, Will had a nightmare for the first time since their arrival in Austria.

He came to himself as he was walking up the empty grand staircase of the Staatsoper. He squinted as the light from the chandelier fractured and sparkled on every gilded surface. It reminded him of the light in Bedelia’s dining room. He could hear the fabric of his tuxedo whispering over his skin. It felt close and snug, as if he might have to cut himself out of it to remove it. He could hear the muted strains of music ahead through the doors to the concert hall, and he followed the sound numbly.

The hall, like the staircase, appeared at first to be devoid of people, but not entirely he realized as he looked around. Up in the boxes were figures standing stiffly like unmanned puppets, gazing down at the stage. They were familiar figures...

Jack.

Alana.

Molly.

Margot.

Zeller.

Price.

Even Beverly Katz made an appearance before she fell apart before his eyes into bloody bits of colorful tissue paper.

All of them were transfixed by the scene being played out which grew clearer to Will as he neared the edge of the stage.

Hannibal stood at center stage with scalpel in hand, over the writhing form of Kilian Pilcher who lay tied to Desdemona’s bed. Hannibal’s hands were already bloody, and he could hear Pilcher screaming over the deafening music.

Panic bloomed in Will’s chest as he glanced around at all the accusing faces hanging on the walls. He tried to yell… to warn Hannibal that he was being watched. That they could see him. But as is so often the case in dreams, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as surely as if it had been nailed here. So instead he broke into a wild sprint and bounded up onto the stage.

Hannibal seemed oblivious to him as he neared, but before Will could reach out and touch him, the feathered stag appeared from the wing.

Will frowned out of pure surprise at first. It had been so long since he’d seen it, waking or sleeping. It had been banished… Subsumed by the black antlered fiend in Will’s imagination. And killed by Hannibal in his kitchen in Baltimore. Given no quarter in their Austrian chalet. But now it stepped between him and Hannibal, blood soaked hooves leaving cloven footprints where it trod. Will tried to scream again, to get Hannibal’s attention but as he drew the breath, the stag thrust its antlers at Will driving him back.

And again it tried to gore him, making Will withdraw another step, But looking through the ebony antlers he could see Hannibal about to raise the scalpel. And draped over his back was the lean, hard form of the stag fiend. It peered down over his shoulder, drawing blood with the tip of an antler against Hannibal’s cheek. 

It smiled. It honest to God smiled with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth as its spindly black arms wound around Hannibal’s waist.

“Hannibal! No!” His cry rang in his ears and the stag lowered its head and charged, its solid black and weirdly human eyes shining under the stage lights.

Will caught the stag’s antlers, cutting open his hands on the sharp knife-like edges. He must have cried out in pain because Hannibal looked up, and the fiend melted into the shadows, just as Will wrenched his grip and broke the stag’s neck with a deafening crack.

Will awoke in a cold, soaking sweat, their expensive sheets stuck to every patch of exposed skin. Hannibal already had the light on and was bent over him with a concerned frown.

“Will?” He asked as his face came into sharper focus.

Will relaxed, flopping back onto his sopping pillow with a groan. “Sorry.” he muttered, wiping his dripping face with one hand.

“No need to apologize.” Hannibal replied coolly as he swung his legs off the bed. “If anything, I’m sure I should be the one apologizing for your state.”

“You think so?”

“You uttered my name more than once before you woke up.” he answered, circling the bed. “My reaction to that man at the opera has you worried.”

Will didn’t answer, as he often did when Hannibal was right.

Hannibal said no more at first as he fetched a towel and clean pajamas for Will.

“Thank you.” Will murmured as he toweled off and changed into the fresh pajamas. Hannibal set to work stripping and remaking the bed. “I usually just put a towel down.”

Hannibal only wrinkled his nose in reply. “I can make you some tea, if you’d like.”

“I usually go for whiskey… but I’m fine.”

Once the bed was remade and they were settled, Hannibal turned off the light. Will lay there for a moment, breathing in the darkness before he turned to see Hannibal curled on his side watching him. He moved, feeling pulled into Hannibal’s embrace as if he were a source of gravity unto himself. He bundled Will close against his chest and pressed a kiss into his hair. 

“What did you see?” He asked.

Will pressed his face against Hannibal’s chest and breathed deep. “Me being right.” he answered. “And what I have to do to save you from yourself. What I have to be.”

“That is what frightened you?”

Will shook his head mutely.

“What was it then?”

“That I would be too late.”


	13. Lone Let It Stand Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! I managed not to be late on publishing this! I'm currently in the middle of technical rehearsals for my local ballet company's original production of Peter Pan. I spent today gaily sending dancers flying through the air.
> 
> Many thanks to all of you for your wonderful feedback. I'm so glad that you're excited to see where I'm heading with this. The chapter below is Alana and FBI focused, but the next chapter will delve into Will's solution to their little... opera pest problem.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! Hope you enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated.

Winter in the northeastern US gave one last frigid gasp before spring was grudgingly allowed to finally take hold. Rain turned to sleet, and then to a slushy snow that only served to make the ground the same filthy gray as the sky. But despite it all, a few valiant crocuses had made an appearance in the sodden fields around Quantico, and there were a few poking their cheery purple heads out of the slush near the window of Alana Bloom’s temporary office. They were the only color in the otherwise dismal landscape.

At first, Alana had been resistant to the idea of having an official office on site for the investigation. She tried to tell herself that it was just her usual dislike of being easily found. After all, she’d never used her office at Georgetown save for the office hours that her teaching contract required her to keep. But she found lying to herself was a habit she was well broken of after all the business with Hannibal, and Will, and Abigail. Her patience with her surroundings was simply growing thin.

She could feel her enthusiasm for the case waning in tandem with the ebbing flow of new evidence. Other than the security photos from the terminal De Gaulle airport, there had been no further sightings of either Will or Hannibal in over a month and a half. And no murders fitting Hannibal’s established motif had surfaced either. It was as if they had just melted into the European landscape.

There was a sharp knock at the door and Alana spun on her heels. “Come in.” she called.

Jack Crawford poked his head in the door making her stomach twist in annoyance. 

“What can I help you with, Jack?” She asked, putting on her best attempt at professional politeness.

“Just got off the phone with Du Roi at INTERPOL. Their search of the records and security footage at all the Paris rail stations has turned up nothing.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“I’m having them widen their search parameters to a week out from their arrival at De Gaulle, but that will take some time to scour through all of it. I tried to get them to let us help them crunch through some of it, but something about international jurisdiction and blah blah blah.”

“Well, they know what they’re looking for as well as we do.” Alana replied. “It’s probably not worth the hassle of the paperwork.”

Jack frowned at her. “You let the people who have to file the paperwork worry about that.”

“Fair enough.” She replied sourly. “You just want to come tell me my ideas are terrible, or was there something else?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You’ve been awfully prickly about this case, Alana.” 

“Have I? Can’t imagine why?” The sarcasm dripped from her words like cold syrup.

“Maybe I ought to take you off this case then, if you’re too personally invested to be focused and professional.” 

“I’ll settle for that only if you take yourself off as well.” she retorted, using every ounce of her mental strength to keep her anger in check, but she still spat the syllables out like nails. “You beg me to come on despite reservations, and then you don’t like what I have to tell you, so you threaten to kick me off. Hmm. Starting to see a pattern there, Jack.”

Crawford glowered at her, and she was surprised that the room didn’t light on fire. “Call me when your attitude is better.” he growled before heading for the door.

Alana closed her eyes and summoned as much calm as she could muster. “Have they been checking on private train cars?” Her voice stopped him in the doorway. 

“What?” he snapped.

“Has Du Roi had her people checking records for private train cars. We think that it’s likely they traveled by private plane, so it’s possible they might have a private train car as well. Those are rarer, and easier to follow. One without a passenger manifest will be easy to spot.”

Jack blinked a few times before nodding, and heading out the door.

Alana flopped down in her overstuffed office chair and tried her best not to feel like she was betraying Will somehow. 

***

Before bed, Alana called Margot as she’d taken to doing almost every night they had been apart. After speaking excited nonsense with Preston and telling him good night, Margot returned to grace her ear. She smiled into the receiver. Alana could hear it in her voice.

“I miss you.” 

“We miss you too.” Alana said, her own soft grin evident in her tone. 

“I got your flowers. Crocuses are an interesting choice for an arrangement.”

“Well… they’re in season. There’s some outside of my office.”

“Something’s growing in that sludge?”

“Trying to anyway.”

A slow beat of silence followed.

“How is the investigation going?” Margot asked finally. She was never one to skirt the elephant in the room, and Alana had always appreciated it. Never more so than now.

“Slowly.” Alana sighed, flopping back on her bed.

“What’s got it trudging?” she asked. Alana could hear fabric sigh over the phone as Margot probably sank down onto a sofa. “Jurisdictional problems?”

“No. Everyone seems to be eager to catch them regardless of what side of the pond they’re on.” Alana replied, draping her forearm across her eyes. “Hannibal has made no shortage of enemies in Europe as well as in the states. They’re about as familiar with him as we are. And about as thrilled that he’s loose.”

“What was that Italian detective’s name? Pazzi? Some of his people?”

“One. He’s a special investigator for the UN now… this guy named Anselmetti. He used to be on Pazzi’s team. Helped him chase down Hannibal in Florence.”

“The first or second time?”

“Both. Lost his wife to Hannibal the first time and Pazzi the second.”

“Means he was on my brother’s payroll then.”

“I know. Never mind the serious potential for a personal agenda.” Alana huffed. “I brought that up to Jack, though I probably shouldn’t have with Anselmetti in earshot.”

“Probably not.” Margot made a sound like she was sucking on her teeth. “But you were right. All that history makes this case very personal for him.”

“It’s personal to all of us.” Alana pointed out.

“But you’re not about to go storming in there with a gun drawn.”

“Who says anyone’s storming anywhere?” Alana replied. “We don’t know what’s going on. Nothing’s happened to suggest Hannibal will continue to be violent.”

“Yet.”

Alana let out an irritated sigh. “Yet.” she echoed.

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, Alana.” Margot soothed. “You may, in fact, be very much correct. But regardless they will both have to be brought in, and it may well turn ugly.”

Alana hummed in sullen assent.

“What is it?” she pressed.

“I just… I don’t even know why I’m on this case.” Alana said as she rolled onto her stomach. “They don’t need profiles or any sort of insight into either of their heads. We all know them well enough by now. The trail’s just cold, so I’m little more than Jack’s punching bag.”

“But what do you bring to the table that the others lack?”

“I don’t know.” she groaned. “Restraint? Restraint that comes from a specific perspective?”

“And what perspective is that?”

“Bull-headed optimism.” Alana snarked.

“I can agree with that. You’re optimistic on the instinct that something’s changed.”

“I have evidence to back up my instincts.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, when Hannibal thought Will was working with him and killing for him, his patterns and behavior changed.”

“That was quite a con that Will pulled.” Margot admitted.

“Sometimes I wonder if it really was a con.”

“I’m sure that you’re not the only one.” 

“Jack sure as hell doesn’t trust Will. Especially not after his plan to catch Dolarhyde going so suspiciously and catastrophically awry.” Alana said, propping her chin on her fist. “He just… he doesn’t listen to me, Margot. I don’t know why he even has me on this case. Seriously.”

“Maybe it’s your perspective.” Margot offered. Alana went to reply but she cut her off. “Hear me out. Sure… your experience with Will and Hannibal has been pretty much the same as everyone else’s. At least as far as the whole manipulation and betrayal factors go. But your reaction is different. You’re the only one not slavering to put a bullet in either of them. You’re probably the only one actually in this for justice and not vengeance.”

“That’s true.” Alana sighed. “But Jack still argues with me on everything. Questions my commitment to the case and ability to be unbiased in my thinking about Will.”

“None of you can be unbiased about it. He was your friend.”

“That’s fair.” she grumbled sullenly. “It’s just exhausting.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Margot said. 

There was a long pause before Alana spoke again. “I’ve been giving some thought to what you said about Will and Hannibal.”

“Oh?”

“Seems you may have been at least partially right…”

“How so?”

“Will isn’t a hostage. He’s with Hannibal consensually. Hannibal looked like he was leading Will around by the elbow in the security photos we have.”

“Hmm.” Margot hummed. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Me neither.” Alana answered, sounding none to happy about it.

“Where did you see them?”

“De Gaulle Airport terminal in Paris. Private flight with no manifest. INTERPOL hasn’t had any luck tracking down the owner.”

“Nothing else out of the ordinary?”

“Not a thing.”

Alana could hear Margot chewing on her lip. “Well, I’m sure something will turn up. Hopefully, it won’t be a body.”

“I hope not.” Alana agreed.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll show up on another security camera somewhere.”

“No, I mean that I hope nothing turns up.” Alana said softly, playing with a loose thread on her pillowcase. “I hope they just disappear.”

“What happened to wanting justice?”

“What if you’re right and Will is happy?” Alana countered. “I’m sure life without the frivolity of things like opera and academia is punishment enough for Hannibal.”

“I’m surprised you agree with me on this.”

“You’re the one that planted the idea.” Alana replied smiling into the phone. “And you know I’ll seriously consider everything you tell me.”

“I’m sure Crawford knows that you could do the same for him… even if he doesn’t show it.”

Alana’s mouth pulled in thought. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Convincing him to stay off the trail might be a tall order. But showing flatly that they aren’t dangerous might be enough to sway him. Especially if no new bodies turn up.”

“I hope you’re right. And that he can sway INTERPOL and this Detective Anselmetti.” Alana let out a slow, pleading breath. “I’m ready to come home and put all this behind me. I thought we already had.”

“We never will.” Margot answered with a resigned sigh. “We’ll carry scars and baggage from this forever. Our only advantage is in not adding more.”

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” Alana asked. “Adding more baggage?”

“It’s a possibility.” Margot answered reluctantly. “But I hope not. Because I’m ready for you to come home, too.”

“Soon, Margot.”

“Counting on it.” she answered, smiling against the phone again.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Sleep well.”

“You too.” Alana almost went to say “good night” but pulled up short. “Hey, you’re not letting Preston sleep with you, are you?”

“Only if he has bad dreams.”

“And how many nights has that been?”

Margot waited a beat to answer. “All of them.”

Alana snorted. “You’re going to spoil him.”

“I’m spoiling myself.” Margot replied, her wicked smile coloring her voice.

“Fair enough.” Alana laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”


	14. Calling Up the Moorfowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Save yourself.”
> 
> “I’m not interested in myself. I will either be killed or be incarcerated, and which it turns out to be doesn’t matter.”
> 
> “But it matters to me.” Will said, leaning up to kiss him. “So then save me if you’re not going to save yourself.”
> 
> “By this?” he raised the blade, its wicked point glinting in the moonlight which spilled in through the study window.
> 
> Will lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Blood sacrifice has been the currency of salvation for millennia. You’ll probably be the most honest man to ever participate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! I come bearing another chapter!
> 
> Many thanks to Lawlessdragon and Kaminaduck for the beta reading!
> 
> No real warnings for this chapter other than some kink negotiation and terrible fashion sense. Oh and Mozart.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading. I get so many wonderful comments on this story and it just makes me so excited to post. Y'all are the best!

Hannibal had been unable to resist the lure of live classical music for more than a few of weeks. But true to his word, he took pity on Will’s anxiety about crowds and opted for a smaller and less crowded event; A recital given by the primadonna of the Staatsoper which would take place in a small gallery rather than the main concert hall.

“You do know that it’s a risk.” Will said, awkwardly pushing the cufflinks Hannibal had bought through the cuffs of a plain blue button down shirt. A smaller event in the afternoon apparently meant less formal attire, but somehow Will didn’t feel any less dressed up in his pewter gray suit. It hugged his body just as the tuxedo had, and with the lighter color and slight sheen on the fabric, it was even more obvious that every cut and seam deliberately drew the eye. Will wondered idly if this was how it felt to wear lingerie.

“It is a risk.” Hannibal agreed as he turned up Will’s collar and slipped the narrow length of a blue, chevron patterned tie around his neck.

“You don’t think this is too much?” Will asked, wishing he could see as Hannibal worked the tie into a complicated knot. His stomach gave a heated flip as he contemplated the fact that he probably wouldn’t be able to untie it on his own.

“It’s certainly more exciting than your old wardrobe.” Hannibal replied with a small shrug.

Will snorted softly and smirked at him. “My pajamas these days are more exciting than the most formal thing I ever owned back in the States.”

“I like the feel of your body in silk.” Hannibal giving Will a twist of a smile as he pulled the tie snug against his throat. 

Will felt his knees give a little and he let the momentum carry him to Hannibal’s lips. “I like the feel of my body in this. Or at least I’m starting to feel more comfortable.”

“I noticed.” Hannibal answered, leaning in for another peck. “You move more naturally, and look less and less like a cat that has been scruffed.”

Will laughed, and he watched what the sound did to Hannibal. His face split in a mirthful smile, his black eyes sparkling in the midday sunlight that pooled on the gleaming hardwood floor. They looked less and less like the matte gaze of a predator, and more like polished stones in the stream bed near the chalet.

“Come.” Hannibal said, flattening Will’s collar and freeing his still-lengthening curls. “We will be late.”

***

The gallery reserved for the recital scarcely had seating for seventy, and every chair was taken as well as much of the standing space in the back. Will didn’t want to think about the risk Hannibal must have gone to in order to secure seats to this. Especially seats this good. Center aisle. Fourth row. And he let Will sit on the outside.

It was probably a lovely event, Will was sure. A smaller venue, and thus vastly more intimate, but with no less of the social ritual than opening night. He’d never been to anything like this, but within just a few moments, he was fairly certain he preferred the opera proper. Crowds of peacocks or no. And as for the music, it was beautiful but he wanted context… a story to sink into rather than these single moments of musical catharsis. But he resolved to make every effort to appear to be grateful and enjoying himself.

A resolve which quickly melted when Will felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck midway through the recital. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that someone a couple of rows ahead of them had turned to face him. Will forced himself not to give into the reflex and truly look. Not that he needed to look. He knew exactly who it was.

Kilian Pilcher. Wearing a white suit with a glaring chartreuse shirt. He couldn’t be missed. And he clearly didn’t want to be missed. And if Will had spotted him, Hannibal would soon too, if he hadn’t already. Kilian was certainly doing nothing to mask his leering.

Will did his level best not to give away what he was seeing, and thus didn’t remember a thing about the end of the recital. Just that after an agonizing length of time, they were all suddenly standing to applaud, and the singer was bowing. And of course, Kilian was already inching his way out of his row, his beady eyes never leaving Will’s face.

It was then that Will gave it away. He reached down and grabbed Hannibal’s arm, and Hannibal instantly covered his hand with his own.

“I know.” he replied soothingly. “I could smell his abhorrently overstated cologne the instant we arrived. Come. I had wanted to speak to the singer, but I think we’ll make an early escape.”

But the crowd conspired against them as a queue formed to greet the soloist which blocked the door and allowed Kilian to catch up to them.

“Well well, the newcomers.” he called, quickly jockeying to put himself between Will and the door. He put out his hand for handshakes, giving too hard a squeeze to Hannibal and too lingering a touch to Will. He had to force himself not to wipe his hand on his pants afterwards for fear the smell of his cologne would cling to his fingers.

“You’re ducking out so soon? I thought you would at least be polite enough to greet the singer.”

“We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.” Hannibal answered smoothly.

“Well, at least tell me what you thought.” Kilian pressed, further positioning himself between the couple and the exit.

Hannibal’s mouth tightened for a brief second. “She was really quite lovely.” He answered with an outwardly gracious nod of his head. “Her Mozart in particular was exquisite. His repertoire for sopranos is often as obscenely difficult as it is charming and moving.”

Kilian made a derisive sound in his throat. “I’m afraid I’ll only have to agree with you calling his music obscene.” He snarked, elbowing Will and making him retreat closer to Hannibal’s arm.

“How do you mean?” Hannibal replied with the even tone he reserved for challenges of wit. Will could hear the barbs shifting within, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on Hannibal’s hand.

“Obscene is how I would describe Mozart.” he replied with a disgusted sneer. “If he were alive today, and at this reception he would already be drunk and fondling the singer. And his music shows it. Perhaps if he’d been less of a vulgar, pretentious lotus-eater, he might have lived long enough to become a decent composer.”

“One’s social predilections are not always markers of one’s intellectual or artistic prowess.” Hannibal retorted coolly. “Mozart may have been a rather base and short-sighted fellow, but his music is anything but.”

“Well, on that we will have to agree to disagree.” Kilian replied, his gaze shifting to Will in a way that made him want to shrink into Hannibal’s shadow. Or dive between them. Thankfully, Kilian took his cue, inclining his head as he began to move away. “But it is nice to see you have good taste in other things. Good afternoon.” He gave Will a slimy wink as he went, telegraphing quite clearly that he would rather catch Will alone again anyway.

Once they had worked their way out of the hall, Hannibal let out an audible sigh. “Always I must suffer his presence.”

“Technically, I’m the one that is going to suffer, eventually.” Will corrected with a huff.

“I don’t want you to suffer.” Hannibal replied with a terse shake of his head.

“I will if you kill him.”

Hannibal turned and looked at him, his wide mouth pulling into a soft smile as he gazed at Will, resplendent in his suit and gilded by the late afternoon sun. “I don’t want you to suffer.” he said again.

“I won’t.” Will assured him, hanging himself securely on the crook of Hannibal’s arm. “Not if I have you.”

Hannibal nodded, his gaze slipping off Will’s face and deep into thought, but he said nothing more.

***

They didn’t talk much as Hannibal cooked dinner, which turned out to be cornish hens and early spring greens with some sort of sauce made from elderberries that Hannibal had foraged from the woods around the chalet. It had become fairly commonplace to find the two of them about the grounds at sunset, Will fishing and Hannibal gathering all sorts of edible oddities in the undergrowth. It was a soft, peaceable existence that had bloomed in the warmth of spring.

After dinner, they changed and showered separately. Will found Hannibal in the study swirling some amber liquid in a glass and staring absently out the window into the pillared dark of the forest. When he heard Will enter he turned, a second glass in hand and passed it to him. Will took it without comment but didn’t drink. Instead, he burrowed himself under Hannibal’s arm, pressing his face to the thin cashmere of his sweater. He loved those sweaters. The v-neck letting the bare edge of Hannibal’s collarbones peek out. A uniquely tantalizing sight normally obscured by starched collar and tie. Something and yet nothing at all. Will imagined that must have been what it was like to glimpse a bare ankle in the days of Queen Victoria.

They stayed like that for a long time, swaying gently together before Hannibal took a swallow of his drink and asked, “Do you remember when we discussed a safeword for you?”

Will nodded, taking a long sip of his own glass before setting it down on the desk beside them, next to a few of Hannibal’s unfinished sketches. He relished the burn of what turned out to be a pear brandy. Let it fuel his calm for the conversation he knew was coming.

“Tell me what the word was.”

“Winston.” Will breathed the word out.

“Did you really find him around the same time we met?”

Will nodded again, rubbing his cheek against the soft cashmere and relishing the solid sensation of Hannibal’s chest. He felt stable. Real. As if this was what Will should have been clinging to all along. From the very beginning.

“Tell me.” Hannibal whispered into his hair before kissing him on the crown of his head.

“Found him running along the road that leads out to Wolf Trap. When I was driving home from the airport after… after finding Elise Nichols’s body.” Will answered, closing his eyes. He could almost smell the dog’s fur as he recalled that dim and distant evening. “He was shy at first, but some convenience store hot dogs did the trick. No houses out there really, but he had a worn out leash on him. Had been on him awhile. Was all ratty and the metal was rusted. Someone had kept him chained up outside. His fur was a mess.”

“Is that why you kept him instead of turning him in to the pound?”

“Yeah. And most of the shelters in the area are kill shelters. Lots of people dump unwanted dogs out in the country like that.” Will replied with a distasteful pull of his mouth. “Took me almost until morning to get him clean. But other than the dirt, fleas, and the initial shyness, he was a good dog. Calm. Didn’t bark. Learned commands quickly. Wasn’t the least bit aggressive towards the other dogs.” Will’s face drew up in a crumpled frown. “I don’t know why anyone would just chain up a dog outside like that. Especially one like Winston.”

Hannibal laughed softly. Will felt the sounds against his cheek as much as he heard it. “You washed a dog into the wee hours of the morning? After discovering a dead girl unexpectedly?”

Will nodded, smiling against the cashmere. “I couldn’t do anything for her. But… I couldn’t leave him like that.” he whispered, feeling that admission fall across both their shoulders. 

“Did you still have him when you moved in with Molly?”

Will felt a little shaken hearing her name. He realized abruptly that he had not thought of her in many weeks. As if she had been part of a dream that he hadn’t told anyone about, and only half remembered himself. “I did. She loved him… she-” he pulled up short. Hannibal drew back a fraction and pulled Will’s face up to meet his gaze. “Molly always said he reminded her of me. Something about his eyes.” he trailed off, fingers playing along a seam of the sweater.

Hannibal somewhat unconsciously tightened his grip, gathering Will back against his chest. “He was a good dog. Smart.”

“Too smart.” Will agreed with a small smile. “Alana said he kept running away and going home to Wolf Trap while I was at BSHCI.”

“I remember.” Hannibal carded a hand through his hair. “She would often talk about Winston when she would rather talk about you.”

“She always did respect my privacy. More than anyone. Maybe… too much.”

“What, if I may ask, is the connection that you draw between those two events?” Hannibal asked, before draining his glass. “Our first meeting and bringing Winston into your family?”

“I took him in the same way you took me in.” Will answered with a small shrug.

Hannibal snorted as he pulled Will closer. “I don’t see how you could possibly equate those things.”

“The sentiment was the same. It was the action that was misguided.”

“That is putting it lightly.” Hannibal murmured. “I’m still astonished that you were ever able to forgive me.”

Will circled his arms tighter around Hannibal’s waist and breathed in the clean scent of him. A thought slithered across his mind, and he let the weight of the question it raised settle on him before he asked it. “How would you eat Kilian Pilcher?”

Hannibal swallowed as he rested his chin on Will’s head. “A dish using his brain, I think, since he so obviously makes such poor use of it.” he answered simply.

“How would you display him?”

Hannibal thought longer about this answer, carding his hand through Will’s curls as he did. “I would peel the flesh from his bones. Every part of him that touched you. That even had the courtesy of your breath upon it. I would deprive him of it and display it in the opera house in the most beautiful gilded frame I could find, since he seems so keen to do that himself. Swanning about the halls making a show of what should be private conversations. If he wants to be on display, I will give him what he wants. But first, I will decorate his skin while he is still wearing it. How I cannot say… art is so often discovered in the moment.” 

Will reached down picked up a scalpel from the desk where it lay next to the pencils and passed it to Hannibal, handle first. “Then do it.”

“Will.” There was his name in its usual glory. Its usual weight. Its usual solemnity.

Will pressed the cold metal handle to Hannibal’s palm and his fingers curled about it. “Save yourself.”

“I’m not interested in myself. I will either be killed or be incarcerated, and which it turns out to be doesn’t matter.”

“But it matters to me.” Will said, leaning up to kiss him. “So then save me if you’re not going to save yourself.”

“By this?” he raised the blade, its wicked point glinting in the moonlight which spilled in through the study window.

Will lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Blood sacrifice has been the currency of salvation for millennia. You’ll probably be the most honest man to ever participate.”

Hannibal swallowed convulsively a few times as he gazed down at the scalpel in his hand. Then he took a deep breath as his lips pouted in thought. “I will need to sterilize this.” he said, his voice was suddenly absent and distant as he twisted the blade between his fingers. “Go upstairs. Remove the sheets from the bed and put down the white towels on the mattress. Strip and be waiting on the bed for me.”

Will felt his face grow hot and his cock stirred in his pants, even as an icy curl of dread twisted in the pit of his stomach. He nodded and hurried upstairs before he could change his mind.

***


	15. The Shade of my Roof Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal moved to stand over him with the freshly sterilized scalpel in hand. The shadows in every corner of the room seemed to gather in the recesses of Hannibal’s face as he ordered his thoughts. This moment needed words. Words to contain and codify what was happening. To simplify it and make the butchery that was to come elegant. It needed poetry. A blessing. A bold and unique declaration. But only these words came.
> 
> “I love you.” he whispered hoarsely, his accent almost obscuring the statement entirely.
> 
> That certainly never simplified anything, but there it was. Perhaps not a poetic or elegant affirmation, but an admission. The truth laid bare to hang in the air like a mote of dust twisting in a beam of sunlight.
> 
> “I love you, too.” The reply fell trembling from Will’s lips. “That’s why I’m doing this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. It was a bear to edit, and I've been incredibly busy this week between work, catching up from production week, and getting ready for vacation next week.
> 
> So... this is one of the chapters that comes with some pretty heavy warnings. This is most definitely NSFW, and in addition to sex, it's also a knife/scalpel and blood play scene. Be aware and read with care. I tried to be sure to thoroughly tag it, but if I've missed something, please let me know.
> 
> Also, please for the love of God, don't try this at home without doing some really serious research and preparation. This is the Hannibal-verse so I'm sort of glossing over a lot of really important negotiation, aftercare, and safety measures in order to keep the focus on the narrative. Please be safe!
> 
> As I said, I'll be on vacation, so no chapter next week. So sorry to have gotten behind!
> 
> All the best, and I hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!

When Hannibal climbed the steps to the master suite, he found all arranged as he had requested. Will was stretched out on the towel-covered bed, spread eagle and completely nude. He looked up when Hannibal entered, his eyes hooded in the dim light. Hannibal’s breath caught at the sight, and his resolve threatened to give way even as his hand tightened on the handle of the scalpel. Will was always sublime like this. And it never failed to steal Hannibal’s breath.

He was so pliant and willing. So open. As he had been when they’d slain Dolarhyde, and during all their early therapy sessions together. Before Hannibal had ruined everything with his damnable curiosity and desire to manipulate his surroundings. True regret was not a feeling he was at all accustomed to. But they had gained so much ground here. Hannibal had grown familiar with regret in tandem with the gift of being forgiven. And Will smiled easily again. Maybe for the first time in his adult life. He trusted, and obeyed, and most of all, enjoyed everything without restraint or reservation.

And here Hannibal was, weapon in hand, about to ruin it all again. And he wanted to… that was the terrible part. He wanted to pick Will apart. Peel him down to his core and rebuild him, over and over again, gleefully discovering new facets of him with each word or swipe of the scalpel.

He approached cautiously, and Will watched him, relaxed and without a shred of fear or guile in his eyes. “Are you sure, Will?” His voice, normally sonorous and placid, was small and uneasy. He didn’t even want to speak, and the weak sound of the words grated on his pride. But nevertheless, he felt compelled to ask.

“I am.” came the even, calm answer. Will cocked his head, the tumblers of his empathy clicking together inside his skull. “I’ve changed you, haven’t I?”

“You’ve never stopped changing me.” Hannibal replied, eyes dropping to the blade in his hand.

“You chafe at it sometimes.”

“There are some things that will never change. They may alter and shift, but they can never truly vanish altogether.”

“Believe me when I tell you that I never wanted them to vanish.” Will said. “I just don’t want to lose you. So let it shift.”

Hannibal let his eyes slide closed as he gathered his resolve. He had to swallow hard before he could speak again. “Tell me your safe word one more time, please.”

“Winston.”

Hannibal moved to stand over him with the freshly sterilized scalpel in hand. The shadows in every corner of the room seemed to gather in the recesses of Hannibal’s face as he ordered his thoughts. This moment needed words. Words to contain and codify what was happening. To simplify it and make the butchery that was to come elegant. It needed poetry. A blessing. A bold and unique declaration. But only these words came.

“I love you.” he whispered hoarsely, his accent almost obscuring the statement entirely.

That certainly never simplified anything, but there it was. Perhaps not a poetic or elegant affirmation, but an admission. The truth laid bare to hang in the air like a mote of dust twisting in a beam of sunlight.

“I love you, too.” The reply fell trembling from Will’s lips. “That’s why I’m doing this.” A smile shivered across his features. Then his eyes left Hannibal’s face and locked on the scalpel, shining in the dimness as if it had a light of its own. His face at first was passive. Blank and calm as it ever was, but then he closed his eyes, exhaling a breath neither of them was aware he was holding. He seemed to gather himself in a way, and at first, Hannibal thought he was just making an attempt to calm himself. But when his eyes opened again, a different person stared out at Hannibal. 

Fear suffused into Will’s face. He watched the scalpel with abruptly dilated eyes as if it were a coiled viper. He hadn’t looked at it that way before. He’d never looked at anything that way before. It was a fear that didn’t belong to him. Had never belonged to him. It belonged to someone who couldn’t fathom this. Who would have never handed someone a scalpel and given them free license to use their body as a canvas. Someone who was truly afraid, and who didn’t understand what was about to happen.

Hannibal saw Kilian Pilcher staring out of Will’s slate gray eyes. With his greasy hair, audacious suit, and offensively self-satisfied sneer that had melted so nicely into an expression of pure and unbridled terror. Hannibal felt his lip curl involuntarily, baring his white teeth as Will’s face blanched further. He wanted his revenge on the overzealous, swaggering pest. And Will was going to let him have it. 

As the scalpel neared the skin of Will’s chest he let out a high pitched sound and scooted away. Hannibal snatched his hand back, finding himself more irritated than concerned. “Lie still.” he ordered flatly. “Or this will hurt far worse.” He brought his wrist to rest on the apex Will’s shivering rib cage, holding the scalpel like an artist would hold a pencil. He hesitated for a moment, and looked up into Will’s eyes. “You know how to stop me.” he said.

Will nodded jerkily. Hannibal wasn’t sure if he could see him peeking out or not. But he had not given his safe word, so he simply left it at that.

He refocused himself upon the smooth, heaving canvas of Will’s chest and let the point of the blade drop into his skin, beginning at the top of his sternum. It only took the weight of the instrument to break through. Blood welled out, and Will keened high in his throat and shut his eyes.

“It's only pain.” Hannibal soothed. “Temporary and only occupying this moment, just as we all are. In the next moment the pain will be different. The sharp will incandesce to a burning line. Then dull to an ache. And the ache will subside to an itch. And then it will fade. Occupy the moment with it, and it will pass more quickly.”

Will opened his eyes, sweat already sheening his face and pupils blown to black with the adrenaline. He wasn’t sure from this vantage point if Hannibal was addressing Pilcher or himself. He kept his gaze locked onto Hannibal’s face as he began to slowly drag the scalpel through his skin. A searing vertical line directly over his breastbone, beaded with crimson in the wake of the blade. He choked back a scream but barely. Hannibal watched the blood pool for a moment before he raised the scalpel again. He repeated the motion on Will’s upper arms, his flanks, even painting the scalding straight lines along a few of Will’s ribs. Each time the scalpel touched his skin, a horrible, strangled sound shook loose from Will’s throat.

But Hannibal didn’t fail to notice that Will’s cock, which had shrunk with his earlier fear was beginning to fill again, and his own grew heavy between his legs as he worked. He did his best to ignore this, and instead inclined his head and considered his starting point… the vertical line over Will’s breastbone. A soft blush was blooming outward from the injury, and Will’s blood was weeping onto his skin in vibrant pools. The lines had been a test to gauge Will’s tolerance for this sort of pain. He’d done shockingly well.

“As a peacock you will need some feathers, I think.” he remarked blandly as he adjusted his grip on the scalpel. Will sucked in a sharp breath, and the beads of blood shifted and cascaded in crimson lines over his ribs. Hannibal lowered the blade to Will’s chest again and carefully traced lighter lines limning a soft, bloody feather on Will’s chest.

The first was indeed a masterful rendering of a peacock feather, with trailing, swooping tendrils that painted outward from his breast bone. But as Hannibal shifted to sketch its companions on Will’s ribs, he pulled up short. He didn’t feel called to paint the swirling lines of peacock feathers. Instead, he found himself limning blunt, narrow primary feathers with close barbs and construction that arched at the tip, like a bent fishing rod.

Shrike feathers, he realized with a suddenness that physically shook him. Six in total before he recognized that at some point his design had changed. He was no long torturing Kilian Pilcher, but was decorating Will Graham.

Will was panting hard by the last one, not even able to hold air in his lungs long enough to moan in pain anymore. Sweat beaded alongside the blood and pooled into the injuries making him shudder and gasp. But he never moved. Never struggled or attempted to escape. When the sixth feather was complete, Hannibal gingerly set the bloody scalpel aside and reached down to lift Will from the mattress.

“No.” Will moaned softly, making Hannibal freeze. “Please… Hannibal, I…”

Hannibal knew what he wanted. His flushed cock arched over his stomach, jumping with each movement. “We need to clean these first, or the injuries will scar.”

“I want them to.”

“Will.” his name came as a dark warning.

“And I want…” Will scrabbled for the cuff of Hannibal’s shirt. 

“What is it?”

“I want you to fuck me while I’m still bleeding.”

Hannibal could hear his own blood pounding in his ears and his pants suddenly felt impossibly tight across his erection. “Will…” he ground out his name. He wanted to dissuade him or warn him, but could manage nothing more than his name through the surging haze of desire that had overtaken him.

“Please. You want it, too, or you wouldn’t have said my name like that.” Will ground out, the words hiccupping between gasps for air. “It’s how we always were before. We were a mess. Covered in blood and not ever knowing what the other was thinking.” he said reaching out and cupping Hannibal’s stiffening cock through his suit pants making him groan. “It’s not like that now.” He paused to lick his lips as he gazed up at Hannibal through soft, dark lashes. “Please.”

That last grating plea was all it took to rid Hannibal of the final shreds of his resolve. He tore himself free of his remaining clothes as he fumbled for the lube in the bedside drawer. He cursed himself for not even thinking of this as a possibility and setting it out earlier. But here the opportunity was, bleeding, and panting, and staring plaintively up at him as he liberally slicked fingers two fingers and moved to crouch over Will. 

He moaned at the first touch of Hannibal’s fingers, arching off the bed and making his wounds reopen and weep anew. Hannibal couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and licking the blood off his skin, leaving a wide russet smear up his breast bone as he pressed his fingers into Will. He groaned aloud again, rolling his body and making more of the cuts ooze dark, viscous crimson. He took the intrusion easily, and with wanton abandon.

“God, Hannibal, please…” he moaned, his voice going flimsy with desperation. “It’s enough… please…”

“I will hurt you.”

Will gathered enough breath to let out a pitiless bark of laughter as he lurched up to catch Hannibal’s bottom lip in his teeth. He didn’t bite hard enough to break skin, but it was enough to rouse his harsher nature again.

Hannibal roughly shoved him down on the bed with one hand splayed between his collarbones. “Turn over.” he snapped as he pulled his hand free.

Will did, tracking blood onto the white towels as he went, like he was making a bloody angel in snow. Hannibal pulled him up onto his hands and knees as he slicked up his cock. Then he lined himself up with Will’s entrance and pushed in with a single, unforgiving thrust. Will screamed at the intrusion, a loud animalistic wail that rang against the rafters. His hands clawed into the towel as he fought to get away. Some part of Hannibal blanched at the sight, but that part of his mind was far distant to this moment. Just tacitly observing the savagery Will had begged for. Instead of withdrawing, he gripped Will’s hip with one hand hard enough to leave a livid bruise, fingers slipping in the blood that had dripped down his flanks, and threaded the other through his hair, wrenching his head back.

“I want to watch your face as I take you.” Hannibal ground out. “As I make you bleed from a thousand cuts. And I would give you a thousand more… tattooing your nature onto your skin for only my eyes to see.”

Will made a pitiful sound as more blood oozed out of his cuts, and Hannibal’s cock slid roughly over his prostate. Pre-come and blood soaked into the towels as Will twisted against his grip. It hurt. Everything hurt… and everything was quiet, save Hannibal’s sharp grunts at the apex of each thrust.

Hannibal’s fist tightened in Will’s hair. “Stop fighting me.” he hissed. “You wanted to be used so I will use you.”

The room spun at Hannibal’s words, and it was a wonder to Will that he managed to stay upright. He was in too much pain to come, but he let himself be bent, and bruised, and bled until Hannibal came and folded himself over Will’s back, panting against his sweaty skin.

Somehow, they managed to not collapse into each other, Will falling onto his side, and Hannibal moving to cradle him as he wound down. He fought to slow his breathing as his hand brushed Will’s cock which was still rock hard and leaking. 

Will shook uncontrollably as he pressed himself into Hannibal’s body, smearing blood all over both of them, and making the cuts scream as their sweat was ground into them. He rutted fruitlessly into the hollow of Hannibal’s hips shock and desire commingling as his own blood coated and slicked his cock. He tried and failed to hide the tears that pooled in his eyes, and Hannibal wiped them clean. “Shh. I’m taking you into the bathroom to clean you up, and then I will take care of you. Can you stand?”

Will nodded dumbly, not looking up.

Hannibal pulled him to his feet and led him to the bathroom to sit on the edge of their deep brass tub. He started the water as Will sagged in his arms. “I need to clean these. And then I’m going to take care of you.” Hannibal told him gently. “Can you sit on your own while I get some things?”

Will nodded again, hands falling to grip the edge of the tub. Hannibal moved away, grabbing alcohol swabs and a washcloth, which he wet in the slowly filling tub. Gingerly, he wiped down all the cuts taking care not to reopen any of them since they’d mostly clotted. None were deep enough to need stitches.

“This will sting.” Hannibal warned as he opened the alcohol swab. “But only for a moment. It is necessary, as was the pain before.”

Again, Will nodded mutely, but hissed between his teeth as the alcohol soaked square of gauze brushed over the outline of the peacock feather and its companion all over his upper torso. But no matter how much he jumped and shuddered, he kept his head bowed.

When Hannibal was satisfied that the wounds were clean, the tub was full. Hannibal shut off the water, and helped Will climb in, but he hesitated, towering bloodsoaked over Will and almost feeling unworthy of sharing the bath. Maybe if King David had felt this way about Bathsheba, the world would have been the brighter in his time.

But neither David nor Hannibal had been possessed of such restraint. When Will reached for him, he climbed into the tub behind him, pillowing his head against his chest. As the delightfully hot water began to penetrate his muscles, Hannibal realized how very tense he had been through the whole ordeal. Not unlike the sensation after a long day in the emergency surgery ward. And he could feel Will unwinding slowly despite the sting of the water soaking into his injuries.

“Hannibal?” Will’s voice came up to him over the sounds of their bodies in the water. It was soft, almost dreamy sounding. The endorphins had kicked in.

“Yes, Will?”

“Will you touch me?”

“Of course. How would you like to be touched?”

Will looked up at him, one hand idly playing with his chest hair, watching his blood diffuse off of his skin to stain the water. “The… the way you took care of me our first time together.” He fumbled around the words with his characteristic awkwardness.

Hannibal felt a relieved smile play across his face. “Yes, I will.” He replied, pulling Will up against his side. He settled one hand loosely around Will’s cock and the other threaded lightly into his hair. Will arched back into his grip, bending like a willow branch in Hannibal’s hands.

“Be still, or you’ll open your cuts again.” Hannibal warned with infinite gentleness. “I have you.”

Hannibal had become an expert in the art of getting Will off with his hands. The sensation always stayed just under the limit of overwhelming, and he would ramp it up slowly, winding Will into a tight knot of desire before bringing him moaning and shaking over the precipice. It was always a beautiful sight to Hannibal, but never more so than this occasion. All the fear and hurt evaporated from his face and replaced with trust again. 

And love, if Hannibal wasn’t mistaken. Just like that. Easy as anything.

Will’s eyes stayed closed until he was on the brink. Then he looked up into Hannibal’s face, tears making his blue eyes shine. “Hannibal…” The name was barely more than its shape on his lips as he shivered and spent himself.

When the waves of his orgasm had subsided, Will made an effort to become impossibly small against Hannibal’s body, curling himself against his chest as if he might disappear into Hannibal’s frame entirely. Subsumed and never to be seen or heard from again.

“Will.” there was his name. The gentlest of commands this time, and he lifted his head without thinking about it. “I need to know that you’re alright.” Hannibal told him.

Will only nodded at first. “I am.” he said, his voice still small and distant. As he looked up at Hannibal, and his earlier worry began to crowd into his eyes again. “Did… are you satisfied?” he asked. 

Hannibal was almost certain that he could hear his heart cracking. He cradled Will’s jaw and leaned forward to kiss him. “I am always satisfied with you, Will.”

“Please, don’t leave me.” He begged, curling back in on himself.

Hannibal pillowed Will’s head on his chest, kissing his hair and breathing in the lingering scent of his blood. “Not for all the vengeance in the world.”

***


	16. I Go Where I Must

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Excellent, Alana’s here. Let’s get started.” Jack clapped his hands and rubbed them together.
> 
> Alana was afraid that her jaw would crack with the amount of force she had use in order to summon a believable smile. “Yes, let’s.” she ground out as she took her seat.
> 
> “First of all, a publicity image has surfaced showing both Graham and Lecter in high style at the Vienna State Opera.” Jack pulled up a professional photo of an older couple near a balcony rail overlooking a grand staircase. And visible just over their shoulders, clear as day were Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Jack zoomed the picture in and cleaned up some of the grain.
> 
> Alana suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all, and thank you for your patience while I was on a vacation post-hiatus. I so enjoyed seeing your kudos and reading your comments while I was away. There will be four more chapters after this one... maybe five, and I don't anticipate any further interruptions. 
> 
> No content warnings on this chapter, other than that it's unbeta-ed.
> 
> Thank you all again for reading, and for your kind words and kudos. They give me life. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jack was almost skipping when he came into Alana’s office. He looked more cheerful than she’d seen him in weeks, despite the fact that he was wearing a suit and the defunct air conditioning in part of the building rendered the conditions inside as humid and miserable as they were outside.

“We have a lead on Graham and Lecter.” Jack announced with an unabashed smile. “Du Roi just called. They’ve turned up in Vienna.” 

“What have they found?” Alana asked, using every ounce of effort at her disposal to sound enthused.

“A witness and a publicity photo placing them at the opera just a little less than four weeks ago.” Jack crowed. “Come on. Meeting in the conference room with Du Roi and Anselmetti in ten.”

“Give me a minute to wrap up here and I’ll be there.”

Jack hadn’t waited for her to finish replying before bounding from the room, so she let the false smile slip before the last words were out of her mouth. She stared helplessly out her office window. It was raining again. Spring had been so late in coming that the weather switched overnight from biting, frigid sleet to an oppressive mugginess that just served to saturate everything further. Not to mention resurrect the mosquitos in droves. There were no days of slowly greening trees, and that beautiful crispness that sometimes hung in the early morning air. It felt like the humid stagnation of summer had already arrived.

Her stomach was twisted into a nervous knot. It had been since she’d first arrived to consult on the case, but now with the prospect of tangible progress becoming a reality she felt it clench even tighter. Her lack of enthusiasm still baffled her. She knew that she of all people, should want to see Hannibal and Will arrested, though in all seriousness it was probably more of a vendetta against the former than any desire for justice against the latter. Because that’s what it would be. The hammer crashing down on both of them. 

Suddenly, she realized that it wasn’t justice she wanted at all. Not even for Hannibal. She just wanted to know where Will was. That’s all she wanted to know. That he was happy, or at least being left alone. She wanted to know what Hannibal was doing to him. If he was taking care of Will… whatever that meant. It had never been her job to actually do so in any capacity, but she’d always wondered after his welfare, even if there was nothing she could actually do about it.

She shook herself and went to gather her things. There was no way Will was happy or safe with Dr. Lecter. If Dr. Du Maurier’s account was any measure, half truths or no, such a situation was as close to hell as she could imagine. Even if it meant jail or the asylum for Will, she had to bring him back to Baltimore. Or more accurately, get him away from Hannibal. Hannibal was poison. Plain and simple.

The looming faces of Anselmetti and Du Roi on the overhead greeted Alana as she stepped into the conference room. Between their faces was a grayed out icon with its own call time and number. 

“Excellent, Alana’s here. Let’s get started.” Jack clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

Alana was afraid that her jaw would crack with the amount of force she had use in order to summon a believable smile. “Yes, let’s.” she ground out as she took her seat.

“First of all, a publicity image has surfaced showing both Graham and Lecter in high style at the Vienna State Opera.” Jack pulled up a professional photo of an older couple near a balcony rail overlooking a grand staircase. And visible just over their shoulders, clear as day were Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Jack zoomed the picture in and cleaned up some of the grain.

Alana suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe.

There was nothing remarkable about the picture. Just an image, fuzzy from the zoom, that showed Hannibal and Will looking much as she remembered them. Both of them were dressed in well fitting black tuxedos, adrift in a sea of people dressed much the same. But...

Will looked happy.

Not just smiling or amused.

Happy.

There was light in his eyes as he stared up into Hannibal’s face. And Hannibal was smiling too. That soft smile that Alana had only glimpsed after a few glasses of wine and a few hours on the theremin. But never really directed at her. Not the way it was directed at Will right now.

She felt tears prick her eyes and she cleared her throat as an excuse to blink them away. 

Jack’s words shattered her thoughts like a hammer through spun sugar. “Another camera has them dropping off a car at the valet and picking it up again at the end of the evening. Unfortunately, no plates were visible. Du Roi and Anselmetti have been trying to track down their mode of transportation out of Paris, and to and from Vienna without much success. We thought we might have to set a trap for them there at the opera house, which would have been challenging and more than a little dangerous, but we caught a break. A witness stepped forward to INTERPOL. Du Roi?”

“This gentleman we have on the call without video is operating under strict anonymity until Lecter and Graham are apprehended.” She said crisply. “But he claims that they arrived in Berndorf, Austria a little over two months ago, and he took them by car from the train station to a chateau in the surrounding hills.”

“That explains why they haven’t turned up.” Jack said, folding his arms. “Hannibal hasn’t had them staying in the places we thought. But truthfully we all knew Hannibal’s exotic tastes would betray them. Let’s just hope we’re able to act before he is able to indulge the rest of his tastes.”

“Agreed.” Anselmetti replied stoutly.

Alana had to practically bite her tongue in half to keep from saying “I told you so.”

“Why now?” She asked instead. Her voice was small and faltering, and she hated it. But she had to speak.

“What do you mean?” Jack retorted.

“Why is this driver coming forward now?” she clarified. “It’s been almost three months since we began searching for them in Europe. Why now?”

Du Roi quickly translated for him and he replied in halting French.

“He says that he didn’t know about them at first. They were just guests his employer had him meeting at the train station so he could drive them to the chalet. He didn’t see the wanted information until a week ago.” Du Roi replied. 

Alana nodded and said nothing more. The sick feeling in her stomach spreading through her body like oil on water, making her limbs feel heavy and cold.

“Did he notice anything suspicious about them?” Crawford asked.

“Not at first.” Du Roi responded as she leafed through what Alana assumed was his written statement. “But after he saw the wanted information on the news, he remembered some details. Their lack of luggage mostly. And the fact that before that day, the owner of the chalet had never asked him to pick anyone up to stay there. He had always insisted on doing so himself. And staying with them for at least part of their time at the chateau. To his knowledge, the owner had no plans to visit his guests. And he’s not been told to go back and help them in any way.”

“Who is his employer?” Alana asked.

“A surgeon currently residing and practicing in Munich.” Du Roi answered.

“And this driver is willing to divulge this information about Lecter and Graham?” Anselmetti asked with little regard for hiding his impatience. “The address, specifics about the chateau?”

“He is.” Du Roi confirmed with a nod. “And will be willing to testify in court once they are in custody.”

“Did he mention anything else odd about their behavior?” Alana asked.

There was another translated exchange between Du Roi and the driver. “No, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary other than their lack of luggage. At the time he assumed they were intending to stay for the summer and perhaps had their luggage shipped.”

“And there still haven’t been any strange disappearances or murders in the area?” She pressed. “Nothing out of the norm or overly theatrical?”

“No.” Jack dragged the word out a little. “Dr. Bloom, that’s what we’re trying to prevent.” 

Alana felt color creep into her cheeks under the weight of his almost-glare. “I know. I know.” She soothed. “I’m just curious if we need to be prepared.”

“For what?”

“For a stand off at the chalet, maybe?” She suggested. “For one or both of them to hole up somewhere in the residence? Hannibal certainly got the better of all of us last time we turned up at his house unannounced.”

“You let me and Detective Anselmetti worry about that.” Jack replied. “You’re just here to help with psychological profiles.”

“I don’t seem to be doing much of that any more.” she bit back. “You know who you’re looking for and you know what they’re capable of.”

“So what is your suggestion then, Dr. Bloom?”

“That we don’t go kick down the door in full riot gear.” She responded. Her voice sounded a more than a little shaky and reckless in her own ears but she pressed on anyway. “We try to take them as nonviolently as possible. Tasers… rubber bullets… flash bangs.”

“Why?” Anselmetti cut in, his eyes narrowing. “These men are dangerous. Ask the two corpses that occupied most recently your slabs if you require any more proof of their lethality. Especially together.”

“Because this picture of them at the opera tells me that one might take a bullet for the other.” Alana replied, pointing at the screen. “So the fewer bullets flying the better.”

“Or the more the merrier. I will not weep if one of them dies.”

“No, but justice will, and that is not for you to mete out.” Alana replied more harshly than she meant to.

“Enough.” Jack cut in, his voice cracking like a whip. 

“But Agent Crawford-” Anselmetti began.

“No, Dr. Bloom is right.” he bit back, though clearly not happy about it. “And there is precedent for the tactic she is suggesting.”

“But sir, Hannibal Lecter is dangerous. We would be foolish to go in unprepared.” Anselmetti countered.

“We aren’t going to go in with a fruit basket, Detective, but Dr. Bloom is right. We simply don’t know what he will do. Or more worryingly, what Will Graham will do.” Jack admitted. “It’s true that when cornered, Hannibal is likely to lash out. But Will is equally likely to jump to his aid if the incidents with Dolarhyde and Abigail Hobbs are any indication.”

“Graham himself is also a bit of a mystery, if I’ve understood Dr. Bloom’s opinion correctly.” Du Roi added.

“But they’re both guilty of multiple counts of murder in both the United States and Europe. They should be brought to justice.” Anselmetti countered.

“Brought to justice.” Alana parroted, tartly. “Not killed outright.”

“Agreed.” Crawford chimed in. “ Detectives, if you’ll allow me to interview your witness, this driver? I’d like to learn more about the layout of the chateau and go over the details of their arrival in Austria again with him. Immediately if possible.”

Du Roi nodded, “We will facilitate a German-speaking translator. Could you give me, fifteen minutes after we are finished here?”

“Of course. I’ll interview him from my office.” Then Jack turned to Anselmetti. “Continue combing through the morgues and police reports. Widen your parameters to include missing persons, but I think that we can narrow the field of search to Vienna, Berndorf, and the surrounds. We should have an easier time telling if they’re up to something.”

“But, sir. We already know both of them are guilty-”

“This isn’t about ascertaining guilt. This is about determining what to expect when we arrive at the chalet.” Jack admonished. “Dr. Bloom has a valid point that we are all making assumptions about the situation and we are seeing what we want to see. Or more worryingly, what Hannibal Lecter wants us to see. He’s good at that. Will is too. You’ve seen Hannibal Lecter working alone, but I’ve been deceived by the two of them together. I do not want to go in any more blind than is necessary.”

Anselmetti answered with only a sullen nod.

“Thank you everyone.” Jack said, a note of tired finality in his voice. “I want updates as you get them. Next telecon is in 24 hours.”

The faces on the overhead winked out leaving Alana and Jack alone in the room with only the photo of Will and Hannibal at the opera for company.

Jack sighed, and the sound was deafening, even over the laboring air conditioner. “You made a good point about the use of lethal force.” he said softly as he stacked his folders.

Alana pressed her lips together and gave a neutral shrug.

“But I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that I don’t trust your judgement or reasoning behind it.”

“At this point I don’t blame you.” she answered, a heavy sigh draping her words.

Jack put his hands on his hips like he always did when he didn’t like a decision he was forced into. “But, regardless, I’m sending you to Austria anyway.”

“What?!” the word burst out of Alana’s mouth before she could even hope to rein in the tone.

“Because here’s the thing.” Jack pressed, raising one hand to ask for silence. “You may be right about Will. And he will need you.”

“But-”

“No buts. You want to vouch for him? You want me to listen to you? If you’re right, I will need you there. And if you want me to believe you’re right, and not being blinded by your past relationship with Will, I need you to go there.”

Alana let her mouth fall closed with a click. “I hope I’m not right.” she said softly.

Jack frowned, folding his arms. “What do you hope for?”

She tapped her pen on the cover of her file. “I don’t know what I can hope for at this point. Catching them is terrible. They both go to jail or asylum forever regardless of what they’re doing now. Hannibal is one thing, but Will? I just have a hard time thinking he deserves any of what we have put him through. And make no mistake, if you’d left him alone like I told you in the first place...”

“That’s on me.” Jack conceded with his palms up. “In a perfect world? What do you want for Will in a perfect world.”

Alana leaned back on the table and stared up at the photo. That tuxedo really made Will look handsome. Clean, and refined, even with this hair shaggy and long. Hannibal’s doing, she thought, without the first shred of malice. And he looked… content. She sighed and looked back at Jack. “That looks like a perfect world to me.” she replied sadly.

“Looks can be deceiving. Especially where Hannibal Lecter is involved.” Jack replied with a shrug. “When have you ever seen Will that happy in a crowd of people?”

“Never.” she acquiesced, propping her chin on her fist.

“Help me catch them and we’ll see about putting this to rights. Hannibal is a lost cause. He’s been convicted already and will go on trial for more. But Will… Dolarhyde can be ruled self defense, and Du Maurier as coercion given his history.” Jack lifted one shoulder and sighed. “So his fate might be something that we can affect. I am not making any promises, but assuming they haven’t been up to anything nefarious in Europe, I’ll be in Will’s corner.”

She nodded, a grateful smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you.”

***


	17. Fair Shine the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana had meant to drive back to her hotel after the meeting, but instead she found herself pulling out onto the interstate. Then several exits and a few hours later, she was pulling up to the Verger mansion. She’d gone there in a haze of doubt and exhaustion that evaporated the instant the front doors opened and Preston came galloping out onto the stairs shrieking for joy.
> 
> Alana gathered him up into her arms, the familiarity of his little frame washing over her, even though she was certain he’d grown since she’d last held him over a month ago. Margot and a rather flustered governess appeared a moment later.
> 
> “Alana! You’re home!” she called scurrying down the stairs wearing an enormous smile. “What are you doing here? You should have called!”
> 
> Alana was certain she could see the sun rise every time Margot smiled like that. She didn’t smile often. Not because she was unhappy, but because she kept her emotions more collected than most people. To hear it told, she’d been a stoic child even before her brother… happened to her. Smiles like the one that lit up her face now were rare and to be treasured. Like Will’s smile…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! I come bearing a new chapter.
> 
> This chapter centers mainly around Alana and Margot. I hadn't originally intended to write a sex scene for them, but as the conversation unfolded, it seemed weird to show the boys having chandelier-swinging sex, but cut to black when the girls want to get frisky. So thus we have Marlana smut!
> 
> This chapter is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, and leaving kudos and comments. My favorite email notifications are ones from AO3.
> 
> Enjoy!

Alana had meant to drive back to her hotel after the meeting, but instead she found herself pulling out onto the interstate. Then several exits and a few hours later, she was pulling up to the Verger mansion. She’d gone there in a haze of doubt and exhaustion that evaporated the instant the front doors opened and Preston came galloping out onto the stairs shrieking for joy.

Alana gathered him up into her arms, the familiarity of his little frame washing over her, even though she was certain he’d grown since she’d last held him over a month ago. Margot and a rather flustered governess appeared a moment later.

“Alana! You’re home!” she called scurrying down the stairs wearing an enormous smile. “What are you doing here? You should have called!”

Alana was certain she could see the sun rise every time Margot smiled like that. She didn’t smile often. Not because she was unhappy, but because she kept her emotions more collected than most people. To hear it told, she’d been a stoic child even before her brother… happened to her. Smiles like the one that lit up her face now were rare and to be treasured. Like Will’s smile…

Something… some shadow or flicker of emotion must have crossed Alana’s face. Some look that gave her thoughts away. Margot stepped closer as Alana hefted Preston higher into her arms. “What is it?” she asked, her voice softening.

Alana had a pang of regret that she’d let her face betray her thoughts so. “There’s been a development in the case.” she answered, her voice tight. “And I wanted to come see you before things at Quantico got too crazy.”

Margot just nodded, pressing her lips together for a moment. “Jana, could you take Preston, please? Alana and I are going to get her unpacked, and then I think we’ll take dinner out on the terrace tonight. Weather’s nice enough. Will you let the kitchen know, please?”

Jana nodded, peeling Preston away from Alana as Margot scooped up her bag. 

“Come on.” Margot said, sliding an arm around her wife. “The front steps after hours of driving is not the place for this conversation.”

Alana followed her upstairs, gratefully breathing in the familiar open air of the mansion. It was refreshing after the low ceilings and shaded windows back at Quantico. 

Once they were upstairs in the bedroom, Margot pulled open a bottle of white wine from their mini-fridge. 

“So what’s the new breakthrough?” She asked, passing the a glass to her wife.

“INTERPOL spotted Hannibal and Will in a publicity photo at the Vienna State Opera.” she answered simply before taking a long swallow of her drink.

“They let someone take their picture?” Margot asked, arching an eyebrow.

Alana shook her head. “No, they were just in the background.”

“And how did they look?”

Alana sighed consideringly and hugged her arms around herself. “Good.”

“Just good?”

“Will looked incredibly happy.” she clarified, though she was clearly none to happy about it herself.

“Will was happy in a crowded opera?” Margot’s brows marched toward her hairline. “I find that hard to believe. There were less than thirty people at our engagement party, and I thought he was going to climb out of his skin. Or drown himself in the punch.”

Alana just shook her head for a moment, staring out beyond the walls of the room. “He was looking up at Hannibal. Smiling up at him like… Well here, look.” She reached down in her bag and pulled out the glossy photo, passing it to her wife as she took another long sip.

Margot looked at it as she sank down onto the bed next to Alana, the furrows in her brow deepening. “Wow.” she said. “I hardly recognize him. He looks… good.” She blinked a few times and set the photo on the bedside table.

“Right?” Alana said, before another healthy swallow.

“Makes you wonder what those two are up to over there.” Margot mused thoughtfully

Alana lifted a shoulder. “So far, nothing that matches and of Hannibal’s old patterns.”

“At least not yet.” Margot replied with an uneasy pull of her mouth.

“Now you’re sounding like Jack.” Alana tapped the rim of the glass against her lips before she took another drink. “He thinks that the clock is ticking.”

“Are you so sure that it’s not?” Margot fetched the wine bottle and refilled Alana’s already nearly empty glass.

Alana shook her head, more in confusion than denial. “I don’t know, Margot. I’m not...I’m not Will Graham. I can’t… see the future.”

“You always said he wasn’t psychic. He just interpreted the evidence.” Margot pointed out. “So tell me what you see.”

Alana pressed her lips together in thought before raising the glass again. She polished the fresh wine off in two long swallows and set it on the bedside table. “I can’t speak for Hannibal. None of us could ever predict him.”

“That’s certainly fair.” Margot assented. “What about Will?”

“I just… I don’t think Will is a murderer, Margot.” Alana shrugged helplessly. “ And I can’t get Jack to see that. He just sees two dead bodies at murder scenes where both Hannibal and Will were present.”

“Will did help kill the Tooth Fairy.” Margot offered. “You do know that.”

“In self defense.” Margot raised an eyebrow but Alana pressed on. “The amount of Will and Hannibal’s blood at the scene? All the evidence points to Dolarhyde being the aggressor. It was self defense. Even Hannibal could probably get that ruling.”

“What about Dr. Du Maurier?”

“Will didn’t kill her.” Alana answered with a firm shake of her head.

“No, Hannibal did. But Will was there.”

“But he was the one that closed her eyes. That was a kind gesture.” Alana pleaded. “Will… he… he’s not a murderer. Not like Hannibal is. He’ll kill but not for vanity or pettiness. Or revenge. He protects people. Protects himself. The only murder he could even come close to being truly convicted of is the attempted murder of Hannibal, and that was to protect me.” She paused to give a dry cough of humorless laughter. “Of all people.”

“Of all people?” Margot repeated.

A sob shook free from Alana’s throat. The suddenness of it shocked her and she pressed her knuckles to her lips in a vain effort to keep it from escaping. Margot leaned forward and curled her wife against her chest.

“I wish none of this had ever happened.” Alana’s voice was pitiful and small. “That I had never suggested Hannibal as a therapist. That Will had just… just stayed a professional curiosity. That… that I had stopped Jack from getting him involved.”

Margot sat her up and wiped the tears from her face with the balls of her thumbs. “You tried to and he didn’t listen. You know that no one can tell Jack Crawford what to do.”

“But then I could have talked to Hannibal. Told him the situation. Told him... “

“Somehow, I don’t think he would have listened.” Margot soothed. “You would have told Hannibal, and he would have gotten curious and… well we all know where that leads.”

“But I should have tried.” Alana shook her head, dropping her gaze to her lap.

“You really do blame yourself for this… don’t you?” Margot’s eyes narrowed a shrewd fraction when Alana didn’t deny it straight away. She angled her head to force Alana to look up at her. “Jack and Hannibal… they did what it was in their nature to do. But you feel like you failed in yours.”

Alana cracked at a long replastered seam on her heart, and another choked sob wracked her body. “I failed him, Margot. All I wanted to do was keep Will Graham safe and sane, and I failed.”

Margot bundled Alana back into her arms, breathing in the scent of her hair, tinged with something unfamiliar from her long stay away. She had learned to bear many things in her less-than-fully-charmed life. Her own pain she could carry to the moon and beyond, but she could not bear Alana’s suffering in anything. It brought out instincts she’d thought long buried. She wanted to fix it. Solve it. Do something…

But here, as in so many things, all she could do was hold her tight.

Alana was quick to collect herself. She always was. She dried her eyes on her shirtsleeves and laughed piteously. “Sorry.” she muttered.

Margot barely let her get the word out before she kissed her. Hard. Harder than she meant to, but Alana moaned into her parted lips.

“I’ve missed this.” Alana murmured against her mouth.

“Me too.”

“Missed you…” she said, stealing another small kiss from her wife’s lips as their touches turned soft.

“Likewise.” Margot’s cat-like smile curled the edges of her mouth.

“When’s dinner?”

“Two hours.”

“Oh.” Alana let the sound fall from her lips as she stared at her wife. She felt a tear-stained smile spread across her face. “Plenty of time then…”

“Especially if I’m feeling generous.” Margot replied, nosing along Alana’s throat before leaning up to kiss her again.

“And are you?” Alana asked, smiling against her mouth, which was at once softly familiar but as heady and luscious as it ever was. “Feeling generous?”

Margot purred with a wicked little laugh. “For you? Always.” Her hands were already under Alana’s suit jacket, deftly working the buttons loose as she laid a line of kisses down Alana’s throat.

Alana let her head fall back, feeling a twinge between her shoulders that forced her to straighten back up again. Margot’s hands, expertly finding their way up her back, must have felt the tension knotted into her muscles. She pulled back with a frown.

“I’m fine.” Alana said with automated quickness.

“No, you’re not.” Margot retorted, but she kept her words gentle. “Here.” she helped her out of the starched suit jacket. “You’re going to lie across this bed and I’m going to make you feel better.”

Alana gave her a long suffering smirk as she shimmied out of her pants. “On my front or my back.” 

“On your front for now.” Margot replied standing to toss her clothes over the closet door and to retrieve some lotion from the bathroom cabinet. 

“Seriously?” Alana asked as she unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor.

“What?” Margot shrugged as she sank down on the bed beside her wife.

“You don’t have to pamper me.” she told her as she stretched out on the bed, pillowing her head on her arms.

“You’re assuming you’re the only one getting pampered here.”

Alana gave a little stretch, wiggling her toes and burying her face in the soft feather pillow. “I don’t promise I won’t fall asleep.” she warned.

“Then I promise to be patient and extract restitution from you later.” Margot replied.

“That so?”

“It is. Now relax.”

She poured a generous portion of the lotion into her palms, warming it and letting the soft smell of roses spin out into the warm, golden air. She started at the top of Alana’s shoulders, feeling all the knots that marched up between her shoulderblades. Margot found she had to bite back a disapproving sound. Alana had always worked too hard even when personal matters weren’t involved. This had been especially hard on her, but Margot had expected no less.

But with a little elbow grease, soon Alana was as languid under her hands as a sunning cat. And so she let her touch glide lower, sliding her panties off her hips. Alana rolled over under her, a little flush already creeping up her neck. Margot pressed her back down onto the pillows with an all-too-pleased smirk.

She slipped her hand down through the soft tangle between Alana’s legs, hearing her pinch her lips down around a thin moan that threatened to escape her. She smiled inwardly. Alana had always been somewhat unrestrained in bed. Where she was cold and contained towards the outside world, in Margot’s arms she abandoned herself to reckless enjoyment without the first thought or reservation.

“You’re going to spoil me.” Alana purred, giving a little serpentine twist of her hips.

“Mm…” Margot hummed, feigning thoughtfulness as she curled a single finger up the wet seam between Alana’s legs. “You said the same thing about me letting Preston sleep in here after bad dreams.”

“Did I?” she was a little breathless now as Margot repeated the motion, allowing her finger to slip in a little lower.

“Mmhmm. And I’ll tell you what I told you then.” Margot’s fingers found her clitoris with practiced ease and she began to run the pad of her finger around it in tight little circles. “I’m spoiling myself.”

Alana smiled then, bright and abandoned, as she sank her hands into Margot’s chestnut hair and pulled her down for a kiss. She licked kittenishly into her mouth and gasped when Margot mirrored the motion with her finger. 

Margot gave a mischievous little laugh and pulled back. “I can do that with more than my fingers, you know.”

Alana’s smile broadened. “Oh, I know… but I’ve missed kissing you.” Words were difficult to find through the distracting caresses between her legs.

“Later then.” Margot said with a roguish twist of her kiss-swollen lips. 

“And I’ll return the favor.” Alana replied, the words wavering along with her concentration. Margot had switched from the sinuous circles to sliding two of her fingers ever so gently into the slick tightness of her pussy. This time, Alana couldn’t bite back the moan that escaped her, and she hoped to God that Preston and his governess were on the far side of the mansion. Preferably on the far side of the Moon. 

Margot worked her open slowly, with patient curls of her fingers that brushed each sensitive spot with practiced precision. Alana could only cling to her wife’s shoulders, occasionally remembering herself enough to kiss her throat as she felt her climax start to build.

Margot had always been an expert at drawing orgasms out. They never felt like a punch in the gut, or a brilliant flash of pleasure. They truly were a climax in every sense of the word. As she felt Alana’s body tensing and rippling around her fingers, she would increase the pressure just so until Alana was unraveling in her hands with a slow moaning gasp of her name. 

And she didn’t stop there. She had learned how to wring each and every sensation from Alana in the aftermath. And that afternoon she did not disappoint. Alana’s vision fuzzed out for a good ten seconds as she arched off the bed and into her wife’s arms.

“Can’t I take you back to Quantico with me?” Alana said sleepily, as Margot pulled a soft throw over her.

Margot gave a soft huff of laughter. “We all know how much I hate it there.” she said, scratching her hands through Alana’s dark hair. She reclined into Margot’s grip as she pulled her down for a kiss. “Do you have to go back?” the words were out of her mouth before she could school herself.

Alana looked up at her, her expression pinched and pained. “I… I wish I didn’t.”

“Why do you?”

“Because… because Jack wants me to go to Austria with the team. He… we’re trying to end this without violence.”

Margot sat up a little on the bed. “Wait, so he’s sending you?”

Alana nodded guiltily, not looking up at her. “I’ve been trying to talk myself out of it all afternoon. But… he’s right. What if it does all go south? It might help to have me there.”

“Forgive me, but what if it all goes south and you’re standing there to watch it.” Margot replied, caressing her wife’s cheek.

“I just… I want to try and right the wrong I committed all those years ago by letting Jack involve Will in anything at the FBI.”

“You really think you can forgive yourself by locking Will up?” Margot asked. “That’s what ‘s going to happen you know?”

“Jack’s going to try and see if Will can be let off.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s lying.” Margot retorted bluntly. “And it wouldn’t be the first time Jack’s lied to you or kept information from you to get what he wants.”

Alana weighed that for a moment. “I’d still rather be there.” she said finally.

Margot nodded, her lips pressed into a thin, concerning line as she swept a stray strand of hair from Alana’s forehead.. “You know I’d never stop you if you feel that’s the right thing to do. I just want to help you make sure you know what the right thing is. And not for anyone else but you.”

“I know… and I appreciate it.” Alana stared up at her with sleepy eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Alana.” Margot leaned down and kissed her, the chastest press of lips, before leaning their foreheads together. “Get some sleep? I’ll wake you for dinner.”

Alana nodded and hummed, already halfway into slumber. Margot tucked the blanket closer around her wife and then set about tidying up. 

As she walked around the bed to hang up Alana’s suit, the photo of Will and Hannibal caught her eye from the bedside table. She picked it up and angled it towards the light with a slight frown. It was a strange sight. In other circumstances, she would believe the photo was manipulated somehow. Both of them resplendent in fine, tailored evening wear. They hardly looked like the same men… especially Will. Will Graham, with his upturned face shining… beaming up at Hannibal. At Hannibal fucking Lecter of all people...

He looked happy. Truly, blissfully, happy. She had seen him have an orgasm. Two of them in fact. He had bared his teeth, but he’d never smiled. Not even once.

Margot heard Alana make a small sound in her sleep and it drew her attention for a moment. Long enough to focus her thoughts.

Alana might be right in her apprehension. Something about all of this felt terribly off, but Margot was too far removed from the situation to be able to even fathom a solution. She could only see what little evidence Alana had let slip through. And she could see the toll it all was taking on her wife.

Something told her Alana was right. But she couldn’t say for sure about what. Only that it might not be a good thing.


	18. Birds Come and Cry There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear and uncertainty were alien feelings to Hannibal Lecter, and he found that in their disuse he bore them very poorly. They fit his demeanor about as well as Will’s old suits during his adjunct teaching days. And thus, Hannibal found himself awake the in the wee hours of the morning following their exercise in… decoration. The sun had not yet come up, and had only barely tinged the horizon with the muted purple of dawn. His sleep had been uncharacteristically fitful and his mind clouded with worry. 
> 
> But as he came to true wakefulness, he found Will still pooled against him, half on his back to keep the pressure off his newly limned plumage. He looked as angelic and soft as ever. And that expression didn’t change when he awoke, as Hannibal feared it might. He saw the pain flicker through his features, but he never frowned. He just blinked, riding the sensation and remembering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Here is this week's chapter!
> 
> No serious warnings on this one. Just some good old fashioned suit and opera porn. There's some BDSM/kink negotiation at the end involving some pretty intense stuff so check the tags. But it's all just discussion at this point.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and for your kudos and thoughtful comments. It always makes my day when I see the AO3 emails pop up in my inbox. Much love, and I hope you enjoy this installment.

Fear and uncertainty were alien feelings to Hannibal Lecter, and he found that in their disuse he bore them very poorly. They fit his demeanor about as well as Will’s old suits during his adjunct teaching days. And thus, Hannibal found himself awake the in the wee hours of the morning following their exercise in… decoration. The sun had not yet come up, and had only barely tinged the horizon with the muted purple of dawn. His sleep had been uncharacteristically fitful and his mind clouded with worry. 

But as he came to true wakefulness, he found Will still pooled against him, half on his back to keep the pressure off his newly limned plumage. He looked as angelic and soft as ever. And that expression didn’t change when he awoke, as Hannibal feared it might. He saw the pain flicker through his features, but he never frowned. He just blinked, riding the sensation and remembering. 

When his eyes fell on Hannibal’s face, he smiled, and it was as if the sun rose all at once in the hallowed shadows if the room. And the kiss they shared in that moment was pure incandescence.

Will was different after that night. Easier. And somehow… darker. Because every move sweetly ached, he found that languid space of surrender easily, and drifted through it without restraint. The cuts hurt terribly. Hannibal could tell in the careful and economic nature of his movements. But when he thought Hannibal wasn’t looking, he would stretch an arm or arch his back to feel the pull and the pain.

In a word, it was exquisite. Will moved through the sensations like a dancer moves through space. And Hannibal felt a twist in his gut, because part of him wanted to push further. And what was more, he knew Will would let him.

***

“Are you sure you want to see this opera, Will?” Hannibal asked as he buttoned his tuxedo shirt. “Modern opera can be… somewhat taxing on the ear.”

Will threw his head back and laughed, and a purpling suck bruise winked out over the collar. “For the hundredth time, Hannibal. Yes. I want to go see it.” He replied as he busied himself with his cufflinks. “When you mentioned it was a setting of Heart of Darkness… well, how could I not want to go? I loved that book as a child.”

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth pulled in an amused smile. “Not usually a favorite of children.”

“I think we’ve long since established that I wasn’t a normal child.” Will retorted as he flipped up his collar. “I found a copy in one of the hotel rooms my dad and I lived in. Read it until the cover fell off. Would you mind?” He nodded to the midnight blue bowtie that lay on the bed.

Hannibal straightened his cuffs and went to fetch it. “You know… you need to learn to do this yourself. What if I’m not around to tie it for you?”

“I’m not going anywhere that requires a tuxedo or fancy tie without you.” Will replied simply, tipping his chin back.

“What did you do on formal occasions before we met?”

“When it was an option, I just didn’t go.” Will said with a quirk of a grin. “I begged off or made excuses. Once, I couldn’t get out of it. A cousin’s wedding and I was asked last minute to be an usher. Had to wear one of those… what did you call it? Polyester monstrosities?”

“I’ll venture to guess that the tie was a clip on.” It wasn’t a question.

Will’s only reply was an honest-to-God giggle as Hannibal straightened the knot and smoothed down his collar. He pressed his fingers deliberately into the bruise that lay just out of sight on Will’s collarbone, making Will close his eyes for a moment and just breathe, his amused grin fading to beatific serenity.

When he opened his eyes again, Hannibal was just staring at him. Will let his mouth curl into a smile before he leaned up for a soft, lingering kiss. It began at the corners of Hannibal’s mouth and worked inward until he was clutching at Will, fighting the urge to tear their newly donned clothes away.

“You are a blight upon my self control, Will Graham.” Hannibal rumbled, smiling enough to actually show teeth.

“The pot and the kettle, Doctor.” Will teased back.

“Come.” Hannibal said as he stole one more kiss from Will’s lips. “We will be late.”

***

The opera was everything Will had hoped.

The set alone was spectacular, and a feat of theatrical engineering to be sure. The stage was actually a pool of water about knee deep, and the boat that it bore on its surface was switched between past and present by tricks of the light. Part of Will wanted to dream of the feathered stag again, just so he could see the creature stamping and splashing in the water, clear droplets turning to crimson as if it were the bringer of the first plague.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself.” Hannibal’s amused voice drifted through his thoughts bringing him back to the present. 

Will blinked a few times and realized that the hall was almost half empty. “Sorry. Just… the stage is amazing. I have to wonder how they did it.”

“No need to be sorry.” Hannibal reassured him as he took his elbow and helped him out into the aisle. “I never thought I would see you lose yourself so to opera.”

“Too frilly and high brow for the likes of me?” Will joked.

Hannibal slipped an arm around his waist, and Will leaned into his side. “The finest halls of Versailles are not too “frilly and high brow” for you, Will. Rather, you are too inquisitive and perceptive for them.”

“I’m understanding the art form better.” Will replied with a one-shoulder shrug. “Helps that I have a ready made connection to the story. And that it was in English.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Hannibal inclined his head. “Operas are usually well-worn narratives, or were back in their day. It is less about telling the story, and more about the catharsis of playing it out.”

“Laying oneself bare for an audience.” Will mused. “And laying the audience bare in turn?”

“Doubly so with opera.” Hannibal said, guiding Will out through the grand entry hall. “Singing requires a deep intimacy with one’s inner self. And a great mastery of it both physically and emotionally. But a great vocal performance can open a conduit to one’s soul, revealing thoughts and emotions that might be never found otherwise.”

“I saw there’s a public masterclass next month with the primadonna.” Will said as they emerged into the balmy night. “Could we go to it?”

“I don’t see why n- Oh. I almost forgot.” Hannibal said, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I saw they have brochures for next season at the ticket counter. I meant to get one on the way out.”

“I’ll wait here.” Will gave a soft smile. “I’d rather not re-enter the belly of the beast.”

Hannibal mirrored his expression. “It would be tempting fate. I will only be a moment.” He turned on his heels and vanished back inside.

Will leaned against a marble pillar and faced out towards the sprawl of Vienna. The city was beautiful at night, or so he was coming to realize. It looked like heaven in a way, streets turned to gold under the street lamps. He could grow to like this. He already was...

“I was wondering when you would be back.” a slurring but agonizingly familiar voice drawled from over Will’s shoulder. He couldn’t keep the instinctive slouch out of his frame as he turned to face Kilian Pilcher.

Kilian, clad in a cobalt blue suit possessed of an ostentatious sheen, was positively weaving drunk. He staggered towards Will, forcing him to take a step back, directly into the pillar at the top of the hand rail. He was effectively trapped unless he wanted to make a scene of his escape.

“What did you think of the offerings this evening?” Kilian went on, sidling closer with what he probably thought was a sensual saunter, but to Will it looked more like his knees were made of water.

“I… I liked it.” Will answered, glancing furtively at the door, wishing he could summon Hannibal with a look alone.

Kilian snorted, spraying spit as he did. “You did? Your sugar daddy’s terrible taste in music must be rubbing off.”

“He’s… he’s not-”

“Oh, sure he is.” Kilian put a hand on the pillar to either side of Will, trapping him further. If he could have melted into the marble, Will was fairly sure he would have. He could smell the sickly scent of alcohol pouring off Kilian’s breath in waves. “You wear those suits with about as much practice and grace as I have at ice dancing. I bet he ties these ties for you. I would dearly love to see if you look as sweet out of them…” Kilian snaked one finger along his collar, making the bruise hidden there ache. Hannibal’s bruise...

That was the last straw. Him touching the mark and being calling him sweet… it was too much. Will blindly flung his arms out, knocking Kilian to the stone floor just in time to see Hannibal come out of the opera house lobby. Will felt the world sliding sideways as Hannibal regarded Kilian with completely unveiled malevolence. Will was almost certain he could hear the stag’s breath echoing in his skull. Feel its heat against the aggravated bruise at his throat. Will stumbled to Hannibal and just pulled him wordlessly down the front steps of the opera house and around the corner. Away from the crowd that was gathering.

When they were away from sight, Will collapsed for a moment against the wall and panted. But Hannibal just kept going, the set of his shoulders and the length of his stride betraying his fury even if Will couldn’t see his face.

Panic bloomed in Will’s chest, driving away the exhaustion, and he chased after him, breathless and sweating. “Hannibal! Hannibal, listen to me! Please don’t do this. They’ll find us. You won’t be able to do it so they can’t find us. He will be missed, like it or not, and you... You’re going to string him through the trees like Christmas lights and it will feel good. But then they will find us. Please don’t do this!”

“He wants what he can’t have.” Hannibal seethed, rounding on Will. His black eyes burned with positively fiendish rage that smote upon Will’s heart. It was beautiful and terrifying. The way he had been beautiful and terrifying when they had killed the Red Dragon. But Will shoved the memory and its attendant temptation away.

At a loss for other options, Will took his face between his hands and kissed him in a wild tangle of lips and tongue and teeth. “But he can’t have it.” Will told him, his head full of chaotic buzzing. He wasn’t sure that anything he was saying was making sense. “I have to give it to him. And I won’t. I’ll never. He can’t have me. Only you can… I... Just… just touch and see.”

They both drew a startled, confused breath at that.

“What?” Hannibal squinted at him. His fury had cooled somewhat. It was no less dangerous, but less likely at the moment to incinerate them both. “Touch what?”

Will swallowed and then licked his lips. The idea crystallized in his mind, and sent new dread chilling through his limbs. But he forced the words out, lest the thought sublimate into nothing before he could speak it. 

“Touch what he can’t.” Will let the statement fall from his mouth like a stone, still only half sure what madness he was suggesting. He grabbed Hannibal’s hand and pressed it roughly to his chest, where his heart thrummed in the prison of his ribs. “Touch what no one else has.”

***

The uneasy quiet that carried them home from Vienna was still quite pervasive when they returned to the chalet. They had spoken only the necessities after the conversation outside the opera, but Hannibal barely let Will out of his sight. If he could help it, it seemed not even out of arm’s reach. 

Hannibal had made a beautifully arranged plate of cold charcuterie and cheese for their return, but neither of them had much of an appetite. Will thought distantly that this might be a first for Hannibal. Then again, his appetite might be leaning towards a fresher kill. So they settled for chilled red wine and the warm air of the terrace.

Neither man said anything for a long stretch. Will lost track of time, watching from his mind’s eye as the feathered stag darted among the trees. But he never drifted far. Hannibal kept an arm draped over his shoulders, holding him firmly against his chest. An anchor, but never a prison.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hannibal spoke. “This… alternative that you have offered. If I have the right of it, it is a truly dangerous thing.”

“I’m… I’m not sure I can even really put it into words.” Will replied honestly. “The idea… it’s like a fading dream. But… I want you to touch me. Inside. If that will… serve your purposes.”

“You would allow me to lay my hand upon your heart in the most literal sense.” Hannibal supplied. “To assuage… what?”

“Your doubt?”

Hannibal smiled then, pained and adoring. “I have never doubted you Will. In anything, and certainly not in your fidelity. And I do not plan for this drunken clod’s advances to make that begin now.” He paused to lick his lips. “But while it would assuage my anger, what you have suggested is dangerous.”

“You’ve already said that. But you’ve fantasized about such things before.” Will pointed out. “You nearly took the top of my head off with a bone saw.”

Hannibal’s lip gave an involuntary twitch and he wrinkled his nose. “If I may be blunt, my intention in that case was never to leave you alive. I could… I could never destroy you now. It is as you so astutely put it, ‘fading like a dream.’ I almost can’t recall why I felt that way.”

“Fair enough.” Will replied, leaning back and tucking his head under Hannibal’s chin. “But the thought still intrigues you, because you haven’t told me no.”

Hannibal sighed heavily, clearly realizing that Will was not going to be easily deterred. “Is this something you want?”

Will weighed the question for a moment before answering. “Yes.”

He hadn’t expected that answer and his brow puckered into a frown. “Why? The recovery will be long. You’ll likely go stir crazy from being bed ridden.”

Will smiled against Hannibal’s shirt. “I’m sure you’ll find ways to keep me occupied.”

He snorted with amusement, pressing a kiss to the top of Will’s head. “I will take the opportunity to draw you in your repose, for one thing.” Hannibal answered. “You would never sit still otherwise. What would you like?”

Will smiled up at him, childlike as he stole a kiss from his lips. “Read to me?”

Hannibal huffed out a laugh. “Truly?”

Will just nodded, tucking himself into Hannibal’s side.

“What would you like me to read to you?”

Will shrugged. “Do you have any suggestions? I honestly haven’t really catalogued the library.”

“I have.”

“I’m so shocked.” Will retorted dryly. 

“Poetry, I think.” Hannibal replied, smiling against Will’s hair. “Perhaps some Whitman or Rilke.”

Will nodded again, his arms encircling Hannibal’s ribs. They hung suspended like that for a moment, twisting and swaying like a fly on a line. “When?” 

“Tomorrow.” Hannibal breathed into his hair. “If I were going after Pilcher, it would be tonight. But I will have to procure some supplies, and I will have instructions for you.” He paused for a moment and licked his lips with an anxious flick of his tongue. “And I don’t want to lose my nerve.”

Will nodded feeling and embracing the cold tendrils of dread that wove through his veins. They were familiar now. Old friends that he had learned how to ride instead of resist.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The opera of Heart of Darkness mentioned in this chapter does actually exist, complete with water stage and everything. The composer, Tarik O'Regan, came to my university a few years ago just before the opera's debut in England and we got to see some snippets. Look it up if you're curious.


	19. Loved of Wise Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wandered downstairs, feeling much like a ghost drifting through the vacant space. A familiar, hollow feeling pervaded his mind and his limbs. He remembered it clearly, though it was a lifetime ago. At one time it had inspired a peculiar brand of melancholy fear. That he might fade away into his surroundings. But now… a strange comfort suffused his mind. Like blinkers on a skittish horse. Maybe he was fading. But he wanted to fade… fade into Hannibal… fade into this life together...
> 
> He found Hannibal waiting as promised in the dining room. He stood in a surgeon’s smock with a mask hanging around his neck. He gazed quietly out the tall narrow windows and if Will had not known better, he would have thought he were viewing a photograph or better yet, a painting. Hannibal had gathered his characteristic stillness around him, and now wore it like armor. He rarely employed it since they’d arrived in Austria, and it more than the medical garb was what sent uneasiness worming into Will’s heart.
> 
> But not enough to make him run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter that gets all the major warnings/tags. In addition to being NSFW, this contains graphic descriptions of what I can only term to be "surgery porn/kink." It is all 100% consensual, but it is in no way safe or sane. Needless to say, don't try this at home.
> 
> Only one more chapter to go after this one! Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments. It really means the world to me.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hannibal had given Will the afternoon to do with as he pleased while he was off running his errands. Seeing as he would likely be confined to bed for quite a stretch, and it would even longer before he had full range of motion again, Will opted to go fishing. Though if he was honest with himself he did less fishing and more standing in the current of the stream. The creek had swollen with the longer days. Snow had melted from the mountains and flowed down to their little valley. No matter how warm the days were, the water was always crystal clear and ice cold, chilling him even through the insulated waders. 

Will returned in the late afternoon to find a note on the kitchen counter with the promised instructions. An early dinner was in the refrigerator. Some sort of cream-based asparagus soup as it turned out. Will was to eat, go upstairs and take a bath, and then come downstairs to the dining room. Hannibal would be ready for him at 8pm. 

Will frowned a little at the instructions. He had only ever glimpsed the dining room of the chalet. They’d never used it for anything, and so far had kept it closed off during their stay, leaving all the furniture swathed and the curtains drawn.

He hadn’t seen Hannibal at all that day. Not even through the windows. The thought struck him that he might’ve been in the house, or still our procuring whatever he needed for tonight. But Will hadn’t exactly gone looking for him either. Something about the note he’d been left made Will want to stay away. Or at least not intrude.

So he followed his instructions to the letter, and he actually lost himself in the mundane certainty of it for a little while. He ate his soup, and took his bath letting the hot water soothe away his tight muscles from fishing. But nothing could soothe away the steadily growing bundle of nerves in the pit of his stomach, even as he stalwartly ignored them.

The nervousness was undeniable, especially as he ran his hand over the black robe Hannibal had laid out for him on the bed. After he’d donned it, he regarded himself in the gilded mirror before heading downstairs. The collar of the robe, edged in brilliant gold embroidery, gaped generously, framing the peacock feather that adorned his breast bone. He traced a finger down the slightly raised lines. It had healed, but would leave a scar for awhile. But only awhile… Hannibal was taking care that he looked after it. Will was grateful in part. The peacock feather was not his to wear. But the shrike feathers were another matter.

Perhaps he could coax a repeat performance. A more permanent one. But he swiftly set those thoughts aside. Other matters of the heart beckoned for tonight.

Will wandered downstairs, feeling much like a ghost drifting through the vacant space. A familiar, hollow feeling pervaded his mind and his limbs. He remembered it clearly, though it was a lifetime ago. At one time it had inspired a peculiar brand of melancholy fear. That he might fade away into his surroundings. But now… a strange comfort suffused his mind. Like blinkers on a skittish horse. Maybe he was fading. But he wanted to fade… fade into Hannibal… fade into this life together...

He found Hannibal waiting as promised in the dining room. He stood in a surgeon’s smock with a mask hanging around his neck. He gazed quietly out the tall narrow windows and if Will had not known better, he would have thought he were viewing a photograph or better yet, a painting. Hannibal had gathered his characteristic stillness around him, and now wore it like armor. He rarely employed it since they’d arrived in Austria, and it more than the medical garb was what sent uneasiness worming into Will’s heart.

But not enough to make him run.

Hannibal turned, as if he could sense the heat of Will’s presence, and Will found he could not hold his gaze for more than a moment. But it froze him where he stood. He tried to find words but none came, so he stood there bowed and leaning on the doorframe.

Hannibal crossed to him, cupping his hands under Will’s elbows. Will swayed into him without thinking but Hannibal caught him.

“I must keep these clothes sterile.” Hannibal warned him gently. Will nodded with a numb expression.

He had to clear his throat twice before words came. “Where do you want me?” He snuck another look up at Hannibal.

He smiled, lowering his lips to Will’s forehead. “Here.” He answered carefully guiding Will to lie on the table. The polished wood chilled his skin at first, but warmed under his weight as he settled. Hannibal positioned a small pillow under his head and smoothed a thin sheet over Will’s hips, tucking it in smartly at his sides. All his movements were clinical. Cold, precise… sharp. It made Will ache both out of want and out of a surprising satisfaction. 

“What is it, Will? Hannibal asked, and Will lost himself for a moment in the way his lips shaped his name.

“I want this.” he replied softly. The words had come automatically.

A fine line creased through Hannibal’s brow. “Why?”

“I don’t know if I can wrap words around it.” Will admitted.

“You don’t need to.” Hannibal replied, a smile ghosting over his capacious mouth.

“I know but… I want to.”

“I only need one word from you.” Hannibal said, his gaze turning dark. “Please use it when you need to.”

Will nodded stiffly.

Hannibal smoothed the robe open, caressing a gloved hand down Will’s chest.

“You’re going to ruin it.”

“The robe or the scar?”

“Both.” Will said after some consideration.

“I plan to go in under your sternum, so as not to mar your plumage.” Hannibal answered, his tone cool and collected. “And as for the robe, I regret now that it is black. If it were a color that would more poignantly display your blood, I would frame it.”

“Another time, then.” Will laughed, a surprised and joyful sound. His nerves probably made him laugh harder than he might have otherwise, but it made Hannibal smile all the same.

“I’m going to put in an IV and give you some gas to-”

“No, I want to be awake.”

“Oh, you will be.” Hannibal replied curtly. There was that clinical matter of factness and it made heat coil low in Will’s belly, dulling the icy chill of his anxiety. “But I want you to be still. The IV will have painkillers and a paralyzing agent, not unlike what Cordell used at Muskrat Farm. The gas will simply calm you. Prevent you from panicking.”

A frown ghosted over Will’s brow and the sight of it seized Hannibal’s heart. Will saw it and smiled up at him, beatific and calm. “I’m not afraid Hannibal. Just it’s dangerous so I’m… respectfully wary. But I trust you. I’m not afraid.”

“I am.” The admission fell from Hannibal’s lips like the first drop of rain in a storm. “I… I have been since we started all this.”

“Afraid of ruining me.” Will extrapolated. Hannibal nodded, looking down and biting his lip with uncharacteristic discomfort. “I wish I could touch you right now.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“Do you want to?” Will asked.

Hannibal’s eyes went dark and the mottled shadows from the chandeliers gathered in the lines of his face. “Do I want to touch your heart? Cradle it. Feel your bare pulse drum upon my fingertips. Oh yes, Will.”

“It’s new for you to be afraid of your own urges.”

Hannibal stared at him for a moment before he pressed his lips together and nodded. “What’s more, I’ve never had anyone not be afraid of me. Of what I am. You were afraid once.”

“I still am.” Will replied.

“But not that I’ll kill you.”

“Not to be cliche, but there are things worse than death.”

“There is nothing worse than your death.” Hannibal retorted.

“Are you afraid you won’t be able to stop?’

Hannibal shook his head. “This is dangerous without my self control in question. Which it is not.”

“It’s a calculated risk.” Will replied. “But it’s not as risky as you going after Pilcher.”

Hannibal nodded, tracing his gloved fingers over the smooth patch of skin beneath Will’s sternum. For a moment he seemed lost 

“Hannibal?”

He looked up.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Hannibal took a breath and then turned his attention to the IV. “Are you ready then?”

Will nodded stiffly.

The needle slipped into Will’s arm easily, and with barely a sting. A moment later he felt the burn of medication sliding through his veins, and the concussive rush when the drugs reached his heart. He let out a shuddering breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding, as he tried not to remember the last time this was done to him. The sensations were horribly familiar, even though he knew the situation was far different.

“Just breathe Will.” Hannibal soothed. He actually caught himself as he reached to smooth Will’s hair as he always did. “The paralytic is unsettling at first even without your previous experience, but it will keep you safe. Allow me to fit you into the mask. The gas will ease your anxiety.”

“Will I be able to speak?” Will asked as the mask went over his head, covering only his nose. Already his voice sounded dull and slow.

“Yes, but I ask you keep it to the necessities.” Hannibal told him as he pushed the IV stand out of his way. “But I wanted you to have access to your safe word if you needed it. I’m going to begin administering the anesthetic.”

Will nodded but his muscles already felt sluggish. His arms were heavy and growing more numb with each passing moment. It made him want to move, but instead he took a long, deep breath, for once luxuriating in the sinking sensation of anesthesia. The gas soaked into his sparking nerves like cold water, and the air in his lungs felt thick and weighted. He found himself momentarily fascinated with the crystal chandelier that hung over their heads. The light fractured and twisted, almost fooling Will into thinking it was something tangible.

Hannibal pulled the surgeon’s mask up over his face, leaving only his eyes, shiny and black, peering over the top. Will felt a little lost staring up at him as he calmly smoothed rust-colored iodine over the skin below his ribs. Then he produced a needle, sharp and glinting. He gave the plunger a testing press, spurting clear liquid from its tip before he bent over Will.

“The local anesthetic. This first injection will be uncomfortable.” he told him with a clinical coolness. Uncomfortable was a bit of an understatement. It burned like scalding fire and Will whined aloud. “Easy.” Hannibal coached softly. “It will subside.”

He was swiftly proven correct. The second injection stung as well, but far less than the first. Just like a bite from a fire ant. And the third was barely a pinprick. A warm numbness spread across his chest, and he took another long slow breath. His body felt as if it might melt and slide right off the table.

“Better?” Hannibal asked.

Will twitched his head in what he hoped was a nod.

“If you are comfortable, May I begin?” Hannibal inquired, as he traded the empty syringe for a shining silver scalpel. The same scalpel as before, he noted.

Will watched the blade, and gave his weak attempt at a nod again. Distantly, he felt he should be nervous or frightened, but the drugs were doing their job. He was reasonably certain that Jack Crawford could walk in the room armed with his shotgun, and Will wouldn’t bring himself to do more than arch an eyebrow.

Hannibal took a moment and gathered himself, the unsettling, alien stillness encircling him again. He placed the blade against the divot under Will’s breastbone and then let the weight of the instrument do its work. It slid through Will’s skin, parting it as easy as scissors through gossamer silk. Will started to watch, but the first welling of blood made him turn his head and close his eyes.

“Stay with me, Will.” Hannibal whispered as he reached for the first of many snow white towels.

Will opened his eyes staring up through the haze at Hannibal’s face suspended over him. The light fractured behind Hannibal’s head, and for a brief moment his profile flitted between himself and the man-stag of Will’s infection-fueled nightmares. But no longer was it a creature of dark on dark, but now composed of broken bits of light. Light that had always been there. Light that haloed him in his rightful magnificence.

“Will.” Hannibal whispered, his voice full of the utmost reverence. 

Will didn’t know how much time had passed. How long he had laid there, being pulled open like a flower forcibly bloomed to the golden air. He blinked to clear his vision and tried to focus. One of Hannibal’s hands was hidden from sight, the other, slicked in brilliant vermillion, rested on the edge of the incision. His face was shrouded in an unknowable emotion. Raw and stunned.

“Did you… are you…?” Will couldn’t work out a whole sentence, but Hannibal understood his meaning.

“Yes.” He whispered, the words cracking at the edges. “I… I’m holding your heart.”

“Hannibal…” Will felt tears prick his eyes and his vision blurred. “How does it feel? Tell me how…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. The drugs made it feel like he was breathing underwater.

Hannibal shut his eyes, the corners crinkling as he concentrated. “I can feel your pulse in the palm of my hand. It pounds like the wings of a bird on a shuttered window.”

“I’m… It’s not the first beating heart you’ve held in your hands.” Will struggled to get the complete thought out. 

Hannibal shook his head. “No. But it’s the first that I wanted to leave in place.” His voice wrecked itself as he looked away. “Will… Don’t… don’t ever leave me.”

“I won’t.” Will said. “Come here.”

Will couldn’t reach for him, but it was as if the words pulled at Hannibal as surely as his fingers might have if he’d had use of them. “No… I can’t… Will, you’ll-”

“Kiss me.” Will pleaded. “Hold my heart and kiss me.”

Hannibal nodded dumbly and came as he was beckoned. He pulled his mask free and used his teeth to pull the glove off his hand. Then he sank his fingers into Will’s hair. 

Will smiled up at him. “I can barely feel it.”

Hannibal appeared at a rare loss for words, so he leaned down and kissed him. It was a lazy, languid press of lips with the barest flick of tongue that left them both a little breathless.

“I could feel your pulse pick up.” Hannibal whispered against his mouth.

“It always does.”

“But I can feel it, Will.” He kissed him again more roughly this time. “I can feel it hammering in my hand.”

“Is… this what you wanted?” Will asked, his voice husky.

“You are all I want, Will.” Hannibal assured him, letting their foreheads rest together for a moment. “Let… let me close you up and get you into bed.”

Hannibal made quick work of it; stitching and bandaging Will’s incision, stripping off his surgeon’s garb, and then carrying him up to their bedroom, much as he carried him away from Muskrat Farm. He tucked him gently into bed, taking a moment of clinical brevity to check his pulse, his IV site, and his circulation. 

“Will I live, Doctor?” Will asked, his voice heavily slurred with drugs and a pervasive smile.

“Yes, I believe so.” He replied as he took a chair by his bed. “Concentrate on your breathing. The paralytic will clear your system in a few moments.

The position, Will realized, was much the same as when he was waiting for Will to awaken after he’d rescued him from Verger and returned him to Wolf Trap. Hannibal had been so confident then. So sure that Will was prepared to join him. Run away with him back to Europe. Now, that confidence had abandoned him.

Will blinked at him sleepily, feeling at once stretched between the past and present. He had been so angry then. He reached for the sensation to try and recall it but found only a ghost. And so, with great effort and clumsiness, he reached for Hannibal instead. Hannibal took his hand covering it tenderly with his own. It reminded him of when he had discovered him sitting in the hospital with Abigail. All these memories of sick beds and painful goodbyes were folding back on themselves. 

And yet, Hannibal looked much as he had then. Perfect hair falling in a feathery fringe over his eyes. Lines creasing into his face, making him appear ancient and fragile.

“I want to touch you.” Will stammered, voice still thick with drugs.

“Are you in pain?” Hannibal asked, his voice holding that aching gentleness that kept him at a distance.

“No...no, I still can’t… feel anything.” He gave a tight smile that made Hannibal wonder if he was lying. 

“Can I get you anything?”

Will actually laughed at that. “I’m not so needy.”

“I imagine you will feel differently in the morning.”

“I imagine so.” Will replied. “I want to touch you.” he repeated.

“Will.” His name was a warning, but it ached. Clearly unwillingly given. Perhaps the warning had been for himself.

“Get into bed with me.”

“Will, I-”

“You need it.” Will slurred. “You need to be close to me so you can come back from what you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to empathize with me. You shouldn’t.” Hannibal replied miserably.

“But you need me to. It’s what you’ve wanted since the very beginning.”

“But-”

“Hannibal.” Will spoke his name with infinite gentleness and care, and Hannibal nearly came undone. Tears brimmed at the edges of his eyes. “Get into bed with me.”

Hannibal sank shakily down onto the mattress, feeling his finesse and control slipping away as the adrenalin drained from his body. Will pulled himself onto his side slightly, mindful of his IV, and pooled Hannibal against him. “What do you need?” he asked gently. “I will give you anything.”

“You’ve already given me everything.” Hannibal replied, tears pooling in his shining eyes

Will could feel his cock pressing against his thigh through the sheet and his pants. Will reached over and pressed his palm along his length. Hannibal’s hips stuttered but he took his wrist. 

“You don’t have to… you’ll be sore enough-”

“Let me get you off the same way you did for me when we were first together. And I didn’t know how to let go.”

“I know how to let go.”

“Not of me. Not of what you’re afraid of doing to me.”

Hannibal opened his mouth to reply but ended up merely nodding.

Will reached down the front of his pajama pants and pulled Hannibal’s cock free. It was flushed red and already leaking. He’d probably spent the entire surgery rock hard, he thought idly. Will swiped his thumb along the head to smear some of the precome down the shaft and began to gently work his hand up and down. Hannibal jerked and thrust forward with a lack of control Will had never seen in him before.

“Shh…” Will soothed as he reached up with his other hand to cup Hannibal’s straining face. “Hold on to me.”

“I don’t want to h-” he cut himself off. It was laughable at this point. After tonight. After everything.

“Hold on to me.” Will repeated, pressing their foreheads together. 

Hannibal reached up, and with shaky fingers, he clawed his hand into Will’s messy, sweat soaked hair. He smiled, a bitter baring of teeth. “The irony…” he ground out.

“Shh…” Will said again, smoothed his thumb over Hannibal’s cheek. “You haven’t destroyed me, and you’re not going to.”

Hannibal’s breath was coming in short, shaky pants as he neared the precipice with gathering speed. “I love you, Will.” he whispered, barely able to form more than the shape of the words.

“I love you too, Hannibal.”

Then Will gave a small twist of his wrist, his thumb sliding across the slit, and Hannibal arched stiffly against him. Come striped his bare chest as he rutted into Will’s palm with the last ounces of energy before he collapsed.

They both lay there panting against each other before Will grimaced and rolled onto his back.

Hannibal went from relaxed and a little stunned, to anxious and attentive in half a second. “Are you in pain, Will?”

Will shook his head, wetting his mouth. “No… just winded, and a little thirsty.”

“Let… let me clean up and then I’ll give you some water and something to help you sleep.” Hannibal quickly rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. He returned a few moments later with a syringe and a glass of water, and a towel draped over one shoulder. He let Will clean his hands as he injected the medication into Will’s IV. Then he helped Will hold the water to his lips as he took a small drink.

“Better?” he asked, setting the cup aside.

Will nodded. “How… how long am I to remain in bed, Doctor?” he asked, teasing.

Hannibal gave a small, sad smile as he sank down onto the bed next to him. “No more than a day or two I’d say. They usually want bypass patients up and about within 24 hours. Though I have to admit, I wish I could keep you in bed forever.”

A wicked, sleepy smile curled Will’s lips. “Do you?” he asked as he tugged Hannibal back down next to him. This time he came without reservation.

“I’m afraid so.”

“I hope that jealousy never goes away.”

“Truly? Even though…” his voice trailed away as his eyes slid over the dressing below his sternum.

“Even though.” Will confirmed, the word falling off into a cavernous yawn.

Hannibal looked up at the IV to check it out of habit, before pooling himself against Will’s side with his head resting on his shoulder. He started to drift off to the sound of Will’s heart, distant but somehow closer now than ever. As sleep claimed him, he swore for a moment that he could still feel the ghost of its rhythm in the palm of his hand.


	20. Red Shall the Heather Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will sighed a little heavier than he’d meant to, still staring out into the starless night. It made his incision ache, but it rarely hurt anymore so he didn’t give it much thought. “Hard to believe summer is already over half gone.” he remarked feeling a little silly.
> 
> “The fall here will be just as beautiful” Hannibal said with a wistful and reassuring smile. “Just a lazy continuance of days that grow perpetually more golden until the light and color flickers away.”
> 
> “I’m sure.” Will replied, focusing on the carrots again.
> 
> Hannibal cocked his head. “You don’t sound convinced.”
> 
> Will just shrugged. “This place just seemed like constant summer to me. Especially compared to Baltimore. Sometimes in the coldest months there, it seemed like the world would never thaw, and spring would never come back. I think part of me expected it to never change. It’ll be a shame to watch it all fade. I feel like… we bloomed with it.”
> 
> Hannibal leaned over to kiss him on the cheek again, as if he couldn’t help himself. “It will be back. That is the beauty of the loss after all. And we will be waiting for it when it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here is the final chapter! No warnings to speak of besides the usual canon-typical violence.
> 
> I'm about to go on vacation in Europe for about three weeks, including a stop in Vienna of course! I'm only taking my phone, and I'm not sure if I'll have consistent wifi access, so please don't be offended if I don't answer your comments right away. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and for your lovely comments and kudos. This has been so much fun. I've already got more fics for this pairing as well as for Murder!Family and Katz/Graham in the works, so I hope to have something new posted by the middle of the summer.
> 
> Much love and all the best!

Will stood at the cutting board, carefully dicing the carrots for the stew. Hannibal had shown him the knife technique at least three times, and insisted he do the chopping for every meal they made over the last month, but it still felt awkward. He felt Hannibal peek over his shoulder and watch him work for a moment.

“Will it do, chef?” he asked, teasing.

Hannibal gave him a mirthful smile and kissed his cheek. “You’re getting better. The speed will come. The technique isn’t for speed at first. It’s to save your fingers.”

“I get plenty of practice.” Will mused.

“Don’t worry. Soon I’ll graduate you on to more technical endeavors. In culinary apprenticeships, often aspiring chefs will spend months doing nothing else but honing the most mundane of knife skills.”

“You make it sound like martial arts.”

Hannibal lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “In many ways it is.” he replied as he pulled another cutting board out and set to work on the fish beside Will. 

“You know, you could let me do that part. I probably could do it with my eyes closed.”

“I know. As it happens, so can I, and I can chop a mirepoix with my eyes closed as well. But you cannot.”

Will snorted in amused and benevolent irritation. He glanced up, out the open doors of the back terrace and frowned momentarily. It was getting dark outside, and the shadows of the trees had already softened into faded ribbons over the surrounding garden. Reflexively, he checked the clock on the stove.

“What is it, love?”

Will sighed a little heavier than he’d meant to, still staring out into the starless night. It made his incision ache, but it rarely hurt anymore so he didn’t give it much thought. “Hard to believe summer is already over half gone.” he remarked feeling a little silly.

“The fall here will be just as beautiful” Hannibal said with a wistful and reassuring smile. “Just a lazy continuance of days that grow perpetually more golden until the light and color flickers away.”

“I’m sure.” Will replied, focusing on the carrots again.

Hannibal cocked his head. “You don’t sound convinced.”

Will just shrugged. “This place just seemed like constant summer to me. Especially compared to Baltimore. Sometimes in the coldest months there, it seemed like the world would never thaw, and spring would never come back. I think part of me expected it to never change. It’ll be a shame to watch it all fade. I feel like… we bloomed with it.”

Hannibal leaned over to kiss him on the cheek again, as if he couldn’t help himself. “It will be back. That is the beauty of the loss after all. And we will be waiting for it when it does.”

A long, pregnant pause stretched between them.

“I wish Abigail was here.” Will said finally.

Hannibal stopped working altogether, and blinked at him in surprise. “Do you?”

Will nodded, not looking up from the carrot sticks he was fiddling with. “She would have loved it here.”

“You would have taught her how to fish.” Hannibal expounded. “She could have come to the opera with us. I always wanted to take her. Maybe even teach her to play piano or harpsichord.”

Will nodded and started working again, his lips pressed firmly together.

Hannibal let the quiet stretch for a moment, and feigned cleaning his board before turning to him. “You haven’t uttered her name since we arrived. Why mention her now?”

“I’ve been thinking about her off and on. Less lately, if I’m honest. I think of… well… all of it less now.”

“Your life before?”

Will nodded and then furtively shook his head. “I never want to go back.”

Hannibal’s lips curled into smile as he slipped his knife through the last of the fish. “I think there’s no danger of that.”

“I know. But I keep feeling like eventually I’m going to wake up. Or… something.” Will finally set his knife down. “You said the cabin in the States was like Purgatory. That I should think of it that way. And I just… I almost feel that way about here.”

“As if we are meant to go somewhere else?” Hannibal asked, cocking his head. “We certainly could. Do you want to?”

“I… I don’t know.” Will said, frustration clear in his voice. “It’s not that I feel like I want to go somewhere. More like… like I feel like this won’t last. Like we should move before it’s too late.”

“Why don’t we go someplace then? For the winter maybe?” Hannibal shrugged, as he moved to the sink and turned the faucet on with his elbow. “Perhaps the south of Italy? You could go deep sea fishing in the Adriatic.”

Will smiled at that, mind awash in images of sapphire saltwater, and blinding sun. “I haven’t done that in years. Too cold in the Northeast. Even in summer.”

“And we could visit the Norman Chapel together. Perhaps going there together might ease the schism in your mind between the past and the present.”

Will nodded, the smile lighting up his eyes.

Hannibal mirrored his expression, happy to see the lines of worry fading from his face again. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “There’s plenty of time to think. Come, put the mirepoix in the pan and give it a stir. Then take your shirt off so I can check the incision.”

“Hardly sterile practice, Doctor.” Will chided playfully as he did as he was told.

“I doubt I’ll need to do more than look.” Hannibal responded as he moved around him to the sink.

“You never just look.” Will replied with a roguish twist of his mouth as he peeled the shirt over his head.

***  
Alana waited in the dark beside the out building of the chalet, listening to the hum of nocturnal insects and the occasional pop and hiss of the radio in her ear. She tried to ignore the occasional raindrop that pelted her head, courtesy of the low-slung clouds overhead. The snipers and secondary teams were getting into position. The back door that lead into the house from the terrace was open to the breezy night, and her team, under Detective Anselmetti, was waiting to hear if the front door was open or if the lock would need to be picked.

They were going to go in fast. Quiet until the moment they pounced. Will and Hannibal would be quickly subdued if they refused to surrender, with pepper spray and tasers, and if that wasn’t enough force, rubber bullets might be a last resort. They were wanted very much alive. Alana didn’t care so much about Hannibal, but she was adamant that there not be a crossfire for Will to be caught in.

Anselmetti crouched to her right, a finger to his ear and listening intently. She looked him over with a suspicious frown, but tried not to think too hard about his reasons for being here. After all, her judging him for his history with Hannibal would be hypocrisy of the highest order.

Alana returned her attention to the scene in the kitchen and peered at them through her binoculars. She could see them at the counter, working and cooking side by side. They smiled at each other as they had years ago. Before anything. Before everything…

Then Will took his shirt off, and the scene abruptly changed. Through the binoculars, she could see what were clearly scars tracking across his chest. Most prominently was a wide, six to eight inch scar under his ribs, just above the now faded and silvery scar from the bloodbath Hannibal’s kitchen. And as Hannibal delicately touched each mark in turn, Will kept smiling. The sun would have quailed from the light in his face as he muttered something under his breath that made Hannibal laugh in turn. Alana felt like she was watching a nightmare unfold before her.

The radio crackled and the sound snapped Alana back to the task at hand, and she found she was possessed of a new resolve. A voice concisely gave the secondary team’s status. “The door is unlocked. We are in position.”

“Excellent.” Anselmetti responded. “We move on my mark, with Dr. Bloom in front.”

Alana looked up at him and he gave a curt nod before motioning to his men.

They crept across the garden like spiders, crouched and moving quickly. Alana bounded up the terrace steps two at a time and before she could give herself any more time to think, she stepped into the light of the kitchen. 

Both Hannibal and Will stopped what they were doing, and stared at her with wide eyes. Both were unarmed, relatively speaking and clearly had been unaware that they had been tracked down. Time stretched, as they frowned softly at her.

“Alana?” Will managed, taking a step towards her. She could clearly see the scars now. Hannibal had carved feathers into Will’s skin, and done some sort of surgery on him. Recently. Her face felt hot with rage and she thought she might be sick. But part of her wished she could have come alone. To talk to them alone. Sort all this out herself…

She frowned in turn. It seemed she was her by herself. The secondary team was supposed to be behind them by now. She was alone…

Until she heard the click of a gun being cocked. She barely had time to register before it fired, so close to her head it deafened her momentarily.

In that moment, the single word erupted from Alana for a host of reasons, like confetti out of a cannon.

No, don’t shoot!

No, Will stay where you are!

No, we shouldn’t be here!

No!

But it was too late. Before the word could clear her lips, the bullet had cleared the gun, and Will had jumped to intercept it. It struck him right in the center of his breastbone, knocking him back into Hannibal who stumbled to the floor with him.

Alana spun, and without the first thought kneed Anselmetti in the groin, sending him to the ground, but not before the gun was in her hands. “What- WHY?” she roared.

“That monster deserves to die for what he did to Pazzi.” Anselmetti spat, coughing between the words. He went to lunge again, but Alana already had her taser out of her pocket. Anselmetti went down with a sputtering, convulsive thud. She ran around the corner of the counter to see Hannibal cradling a severely bleeding Will against his chest, hands shaking as he tried to apply pressure. 

“No… no Will.” he muttered, before rounding on Alana, his black eyes shining with murderous tears. “What have you done?”

“I… we were supposed to be unarmed.” she stammered softly. “Hannibal let me help…” Before she could reach them, the secondary team arrived. They seized Hannibal before he could get to Alana, dragging him back, howling like a raging beast. His feet slipped in the pooling blood, striping it across the tile floor as he fought to free himself. One of the policemen thought to get an arm across his chest to restrain him, and was rewarded with a vicious bite for his effort as they manhandled him from the room.

As his fevered shouting faded, Alana dropped to her knees beside Will who was struggling for breath. A wet, sucking sound accompanied every attempt for a breath. She spoke as clearly as she could manage into her earpiece. “Anselmetti had a gun, and shots have been fired. I… I need medical assistance. We have to get Will Graham to a hospital. He’s been shot. Do it now!” Her voice rose in pitch pathetically as she barked the orders.

Then she turned her attention to Will. She could see bubbles rising up out of the wound… a punctured lung at least. But there was so much blood… it soaked warmly into the knees of her pants. “It’s going to be okay Will.” She soothed, grabbing a dishtowel from the oven handle and pressing into the wound..

Will grunted loudly. “Alana, what are you doing here?”

“I came to get you.” she answered.

“Why?”

“To rescue you.”

“I… rescued myself. We ran...” Will gave a saturated cough as blood filled his mouth. “It’s… it’s cold. I don’t want it to be cold again.”

“Shh… they’ll warm you up when you get to the hospital, okay? You’ve lost a lot of blood but -”

“It was always summer here, Alana.” he said dreamily, color beginning to drain from his face. “Abigail would have loved it.”

“I… I bet she would have.” Alana choked out. “Shh, Will you’re going into shock. Just… stay with me.

“I loved it.” Will gave a fitful smile, his eyes glazing as they gazed out past the ceiling. “It was always summer here… it was warm… I want to be warm again...”

He started to go limp in her arms, and Alana panicked. “No… no Will, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought… no, Will come back!”

She was hysterical by the time someone pried her off of him. The secondary team produced a stretcher from somewhere but Alana knew it was no use.

***

Three days of travel later, Alana was back in Baltimore. She rested her head against the cool metal of the door that led to the interrogation room at BSHCI, and blankly watched her breath fog on the surface. Jack hadn’t exactly insisted that she be the one to get the first round of questioning with Hannibal, but when he offered she felt it would be wrong to decline. She felt responsible. Not that she would have a prayer of explaining herself to Hannibal. Not after this. But it felt wrong not to face him.

Rude, he would probably say. Once that thought would have made her shudder. Now, she couldn’t make herself care.

After a small eternity, she heaved open the door and stepped inside. She couldn’t bring herself to look up into Hannibal’s face until she heard it click shut behind her. When she finally raised her eyes she could hardly believe what she saw.

Hannibal looked terrible. Bruised from the fight with the police. And even beyond the prison garb, he was disheveled in a way she had never seen. Not even when she walked into the massacre underway in his kitchen all those years ago. He looked old, and tired, and used up. No fight left in him, but that clearly didn’t make those in charge of his protocol any less wary. His hands were chained to the top of the table in plain view and his feet were manacled to the chair.

He snorted when he saw her. “I knew Jack would send you.” he said. The words were meant to be filled to the brim with derision, but they were empty of all feeling.

She slipped into the seat facing him and placed her hands on the table. She would examine why she was mirroring Hannibal later. Now she was just trying to find words as she kneaded her fingers together. 

“Hannibal, I’m…” she stopped short. Hannibal didn’t want apologies, and it might open the door to a terrible fight. Or more likely, Hannibal shutting down completely. He already looked well on his way to being completely emotionally catatonic. So Alana began again, with just the truth this time. “Jack wanted me to come ask you about certain… marks on Will’s body.” She began. She licked her lips as she tried to find the best words to describe what she’d seen and what had been reported in the autopsies. “He has… had feathers carved into his skin, and what look like surgical wounds that have all healed with excellent care. What were you doing to him?”

“Will was afraid that you would find us.” Hannibal answered flatly, staring off past the two way glass.

“Because you were killing again? Were you going to kill Will?”

Hannibal snorted. “No.”

“Did you try?”

Hannibal’s face split with a joyless smile. “Not at all. That was the trick of it.”

“What trick?”

“Will knew you would come for me if I left a trail of bodies.” Hannibal replied dully, folding his hands neatly on the table. “He offered himself in place of my victims. None of what you saw was without Will’s express permission. His suggestion, in fact.”

“You want me to believe that those wounds were… consensual?”

“You and the FBI can believe what you like.” Hannibal replied curtly, indignation finally surfacing to add bite to his words. “It will make no difference in my fate. Other than Bedelia Du Maurier, I have no new crimes to be tried for so I likely will go back to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.”

“INTERPOL and the FBI are still combing the chalet in Austria for evidence so-”

“Tear it apart from roof to foundation. The only victim you will find currently lies in your morgue, and he certainly wasn’t mine.” Hannibal bit back, and Alana couldn’t keep from blanching. And her fear lit the fuse on her anger at the whole situation.

“I saw him, Hannibal!” she exploded, and her rage was fanned when Hannibal didn’t even have the courtesy to flinch. “I saw the scars. What you did to him? And I’ll never unsee that.”

Hannibal sneered at her, a savage curling twitch of his lip. “You saw nothing, Alana. You look but you don’t see. That has always been your shortcoming.”

“I only ever wanted to see you as your best selves.” she tried to shout but sob shook her ribs. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” she whispered, shrinking back on herself and burying her face in her hands. “I would never wish harm on Will. You know that. I was trying to help him… save him. There were supposed to be no firearms present with the first two strike teams. Anselmetti had an axe to grind from the beginning, and I knew it but Jack was-”

Alana looked up and noticed that Hannibal wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring off, through the walls probably watching the whole scene play out in his head. Or maybe he was someplace else entirely. On one of those warm summer days Will had pined for with his last breath. Out in the woods with Will and Abigail… watching him teach her how to fish...

She sighed, letting her shoulders sag. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” she repeated. “I was trying to protect Will.” Hannibal never made any sign he heard her. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to respond any further, she rose from her chair. When she reached for the door, Hannibal’s voice, husky from disuse and grief arrested her. 

“Have they buried him?” he asked softly.

She turned and let his black eyes bore into her. “No.” she replied. The word cracked down the center on the first try. “No. His funeral is tomorrow.”

Hannibal nodded, looking away again. “Who is overseeing the arrangements?”

“He has no family… no…” she licked her lips. “None that can attend, save his colleagues from the Bureau and Georgetown. So I’m overseeing the arrangements.”

Hannibal nodded, a small but clumsy motion. “Do something for me? Consider it repayment for the fact that I never considered ever trying to convince Will to come pay you and Margot a visit.”

“Of course.” she replied tightly.

“And do not presume this makes us friends.”

She only gave a mute nod.

“Do not bury him in a tie.”

Alana couldn’t keep a surprised frown off her face at the mundanity of the request. “Why?”

Hannibal swallowed hard and licked his lips. “He… wouldn’t have wanted that. He…” Hannibal’s voice finally gave with a brutal crack. “He wouldn’t have known how to untie it.”

She nodded stiffly and left, before the long dammed tears could burn their way out of her eyes. Tears that still wouldn’t be shed for days yet. Not until after the funeral. Not until she was home with Margot. And by then they might have dried up completely, leaving nothing but an aching, guilty vacuum inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CAN EXPLAIN!!! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!
> 
> So... when I set out to write this fic, it was supposed to be about five chapters long and serve as a prologue to a version of Silence of the Lambs that I want to write. It was my personal belief that Will was going to have to buy the farm in order for there to be room for a relationship (sexual or not) with Clarice. I actually had about two chapters of that fic written...
> 
> But then, I heard an interview with Bryan Fuller where he explained that Will would be alive and well in SOTL. So I spit and cursed and reevaluated, and ultimately decided to keep this ending but expand the story and make my SOTL a separate entity. Mostly because I thought of an interesting plot twist that I want to see if I can pull off.
> 
> So anyway, that's my excuse as to why I'm a horrible person and killed Will in the end.
> 
> Thank you again for reading and for all your feedback. I'll be back later this summer with more smut and fluff.
> 
> All the love ever!


End file.
